Monster Lake
by bayre
Summary: A childhood meeting long forgotten and now turned obsession could turn deadly when both brothers fail to remember a face from their past. Drownings in Lake Champlain bring them to an investigation where Dean picks up a stalker and Sam a deadly enemy.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: In my happy fanfic world Sam never died, so Dean never made his deal and yadda yadda yadda never happened. The boys are their current ages in this fic and I'm not above using cannon or events from any of the four seasons aired to date, excluding the parts that have to do with the yadda yadda yadda. This fic is completed, I'll post a part every day or so. It was published in Ashton Press's Route666 last year.  
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It started simply enough.

A twinge in his throat, nothing more, but after a few days swallowing was difficult. Hiding it required more and more creativity. Sam could've kept the painful swallowing a secret on its own but more came along after the twinge. Next, there were the watery eyes. He somehow managed to keep them contained and skated under Dean's radar…Sam-dar. However, things didn't stop there. Sam wasn't that lucky, though he'd hidden orange juice and cold pills from his brother for three days. The slight cough he'd stifled in the shower was a harbinger of what was coming, he was sure. The simple fact was he was, fast approaching the time he'd have to confess to his brother. He couldn't share a motel room, and definitely couldn't share a car, with the man and keep the fact he wheezed every few breaths a secret. Sam worked on perfecting his sulking so he didn't have to talk and let Dean hear the roughness from his throat.

Staring out the passenger window, watching trees whiz by, Sam's already droopy eyelids drooped further. If he owned up now, within the hour he'd be tucked in some warm, soft bed, brought soup and coffee, maybe, if he was a very cooperative patient, a movie or book. All of which sounded so very good. He'd also spend the next month, maybe three, being scrutinized for every hitched breath, every twinge, every off sound to his voice. If Dean thought Sam was sick, even mildly so, he was relentless in his pursuit to be sure Sam got well. Not that Sam minded so much, but he felt guilty. Dean battled tooth and nail to keep Sam from ever returning the favor. Dean would drop dead before he admitted to feeling under the weather. Sam would have to drop dead to avoid the constant monitoring, worry, and the horror of Dean stuck in one spot for too long until he felt Sam was well enough to travel.

A tickle at the back of his throat built until it consumed his entire mouth and throat. The pressure behind his eyes rose steadily. Sam scrunched his nose, pressed his lips together tightly and pinched his nose between a finger and thumb. He willed his eyes to stop watering and held his breath. Maybe it would pass. Or maybe it would fight for freedom, with a vengeance.

Sam sneezed.

He was so screwed.

Maybe if he just held very, very still Dean wouldn't notice? One hand out against the dash, the other against his face, Sam cracked his eyes open, turning his head just far enough to the left to glimpse Dean. Dean's eyes slid as if on oil to Sam, shaking his head slightly. Right hand reached out, fished under his seat and dropped a box of tissues onto Sam's lap.

"Thanks," Sam croaked. He ducked his head and looked sideways at his brother.

Dean glared back, left thumb tapping the steering wheel impatiently. So much for the soup. Sam tried a lopsided grin. Dean scowled and glared. Book wasn't going to happen either.

"I hope you've been taking some vitamin C or something while you've been trying to hide that for the last week. And if you blow snot all over the upholstery you're walking till you dry up."

Maybe some soup. "No I won't." Grinning and opening the tissues, Sam pulled some free and wiped his nose before turning on his most endearing little brother, sappy eyed, hero-worshipping expression. "And dude, watch the road!" His voice shot up a few too many octaves. "I don't want to splatter all over the windshield."

"I always watch the road. When was the last time I splattered you on anything?" Dean shot back, jerking the wheel slightly to put the car back on the road. Definitely no book. The movie was looking iffy too.

He yanked more tissues to his face in time for the liberation of another sneeze. Really, really so very screwed. "Just a cold." It sounded lame even to Sam's ears.

Dean snorted, right hand reaching out again, this time aiming for Sam's head. He could try to avoid it, but there was only so far from Dean's scrutiny he could get in the car, and Dean would take his temperature at gun point if he thought it necessary. Dean believed in tough love. Brushing away Sam's bangs, Dean's hand flattened on his forehead then moved down to press for a few seconds along his cheek. 'Cause, yeah, there was often a lot of temperature change in those few inches.

Sam waited it out patiently. It was no use fighting or trying to push Dean away…Dean had guns and would use them. His brother's hand moved away with another shake of his head and a grumble. Dean patted Sam's chest, letting his hand rest there for a minute before returning to the steering wheel. Definitely the soup was happening.

"There should be somewhere to stay coming up; we can wait a few days. Lakeview will still be there next week."

Things were on the upswing for the movie. "There's no reason to put it off. We'll still have research to do. It's just a cold. I can have a cold there as well as anywhere else. You said we should be there by late afternoon."

"At least get in the back; stretch out and be more comfortable."

Sam hadn't been able to stretch out in the back seat of the Impala since he was fifteen. "I'm fine here."

"Sam…"

"Don't want to." Now he was sulking and pouting in earnest. Ever since the Impala became Dean's and their father traveled in his truck Sam had ridden up front with Dean. He didn't like the back seat. He liked being up front with Dean. Explaining to his brother he really did feel like crap and being close enough to said big brother for him to be able to check for a fever made him feel better would be impossible. The amount of teasing he'd get from that would be immeasurable.

"Come on, you can get some rest…"

"No!" he sneezed out and coughed. It might have had more impact without the sneezing and coughing.

Dean huffed and grumbled some disgusted noise. "You sure are a cranky bitch when you're sick."

Sam glared out the window, having too little oxygen getting through to his brain to formulate a snappy comeback. The fact was Dean was right, he did get cranky, and irritable, and downright mean when he was sick. It wasn't Dean's fault. He was just trying to help. If he just kept his mouth shut for the next couple of days, he'd avoid smashing his brother's heart into small pieces. _Be nice to Dean_.

"Let's just get there, okay? Please? I'll get all the rest and guzzle all the juice you want, but at least we can get something constructive done, too. More people don't need to die because I have some sniffles. Once a week someone drowns on the same patch of lake with Lakeview in the middle. We've only got a few days before there's liable to be another one. Besides, then you'll have something to do. You hate being cooped up with nothing to do. You'll drive us both nuts."

Dean looked over at him. Sam looked back for a few seconds then jerked out another convulsive sneeze.

"Bless you," Dean grumbled, reaching over and giving Sam's arm a rub. Maybe he understood after all. "You know, some of those people, they weren't so nice."

"Thanks." Sam leaned his head back, closing his eyes, comforted by the thought there would be soup, a movie, and a book. Mostly comforted by the thought there was a brother around who cared enough to make him comfortable until he was well again. "I know that, but they didn't deserve to die either. Not like that. They needed to go to jail." Sam shivered. "Sucked under the water, not able to breathe. Man, that's gotta be one of the worst ways to die."

"Sort of like smothered in snot?"

"Nnngh." Sam closed his eyes, let his mind drift through twists and turns, not actually awake, not asleep either.

At no time in his life when he'd been sick, really truly sick, had Dean not been there. Other than the once or twice he'd had some minor sniffles at Stanford, Dean had always been there. Dean always made sure Sam ate, drank enough, had clean sheets, and medicine. Being sick when he was younger meant spending hours wedged against Dean's side, Dean's hand resting on top of his head, either being read to, maybe playing a video game, or watching something on TV. Being sick had never been an overly traumatic thing for Sam because Dean cared for him.

Dean had been the only person who ever _cared_ for him. Their father had provided. Dean had been the caretaker. Jessica loved him, did nice things for him, helped him when he'd been feeling out of sorts, but even she'd never cared for him the way Dean had, still did. Would their father or Jessica die for him? Say and honestly mean it? As much as he'd loved them both, as much as they'd loved him, even the fact he had to ask that question gave him the answer. There was only one person who'd die for him. One person who he'd ever said out loud he'd die for; one who'd ever said it to him. They were both sitting in the front seat of this old car.

He'd loved Jessica, and she him, but even as he'd shopped for an engagement ring he knew, on some level, she wasn't going to be forever; it wouldn't last. Yet, when it came to his brother, Sam knew one thing with absolute certainty: Dean was here to stay.

It sucked, he decided, being twenty-five and sick, feeling crappy and achy, because what he wanted most was to wedge against his brother, watch TV, and be read to until he could sleep. But then, even when he literally wasn't, he really was wedged against Dean, kept safe by someone who cared in every sense of the word.

Fingers pressing gently to his neck brought Sam from his mental meanderings back to awake…mostly awake. "M'goo…just a 'old 'ean." His mouth was sticky, making words difficult. "Don' need to check ma pulse."

Pushing up until he was sitting, rather than half sprawled across the seat, he felt Dean's shoulders bob in time with soft chuckles. Wondering what Dean might have shoved up his nose or propped on his head Sam blinked slowly, clearing his vision and turned his head to Dean. "Sorry, guess I dozed off for a few minutes."

"Hummm." Dean nodded out the front window. The radio was just loud enough to be heard.

Frowning, Sam stared at the sight; it confused him. The bright sunny sky of earlier was now streaked with golds and purples, the sky darkening, a few brighter stars already popping out. Letting out a deep, long, tired sigh he straightened further, shaking his head, trying to clear out the fuzz and cobwebs. It didn't work. "What time is it? Where are we?" Feeling disoriented—to him it was as if only a few minutes had passed.

"Just outside Lakeview. You slept all day. And that's about the fifth time I checked to see you had a pulse."

Sam stared at him, ran one hand through his hair a few times, sneezed, coughed and reached in the back for a bottle of water from the small cooler they kept back there, finding orange juice. "Oh. You stopped?" There hadn't been juice in there before.

"Twice."

"Thanks for the juice." He cracked one open and poured it down his throat. It felt good, cool against his hot flesh.

"Sure. I got you grape, too. There's a sandwich."

He fished around for the sandwich. He wasn't hungry, but he knew telling Dean so would be useless. Dean had guns and would insist Sam had to eat anyway. Resistance was futile. The grape juice made him happy. It was his favorite. Chewing the sandwich but not actually tasting it, Sam took a better look around.

"There's a motel a few miles back, but I wanted to make a stop first if you feel okay for it."

"Yeah. Sure. No problem." Sam's voice cracked, raspy; his throat had that raw, sandpaper sliding over rough wood feeling. Bits of muscle lining his throat caught and pulled against each other.

They pulled into a car parts place—not one of the chain kinds, but an owned and operated by, old style kind. Climbing less than agilely from the car, Sam stretched and twisted. All sorts of his parts popped and cracked in protest. His muscles screamed at him, his joints throbbing.

"I'll just be a few minutes, wait here."

"Naaa…I need to move or I might not be able to." Offering his brother a half grin, Sam stuffed the rest of the sandwich into his mouth and trailed behind Dean into the store.

Sam nodded to the man behind the counter, leaned against the same counter, and dipped his head side to side, trying to ease the ache in his neck. He idly watched Dean meander the aisles, picking up this and that, stopping to read some labels, do the occasional comparison, but of what Sam had no clue. Waving half-heartedly toward Dean, he felt the need to explain themselves to this man. "My brother; waiting on my brother."

The guy nodded, and went back to reading a magazine. Sam glanced around. There were pictures of various types of vehicles, old and new, on the walls, a framed magazine cover of a car and adverts for brake work. Dean sauntered up a few minutes later, arms loaded, a big smile on his face. Sam often wondered who he loved more—him or the car.

"Hey there, how you doing today? I need some spark plugs, decent ones, for a '67 Impala…you got anything besides what's out on the shelves." Dean asked the store clerk.

The guy cracked a huge grin, closed the magazine and came to life. Obviously he'd found in Dean a kindred soul. Sam yawned. While Dean and counter guy debated which were the best spark plugs to use, Sam clustered the other items on the counter, one arm circled around them, pulling them out of the way of other customers. Dean concentrated on the car parts being offered. Sam concentrated on not falling asleep on his feet. He muttered an explanation to a few people coming in that his brother needed spark plugs, which sounded obscene so he decided shutting up was the best course of action.

The bell jangling heralded another person coming in. Sam turned disinterested eyes on him. The hair on the back of Sam's neck rose, and a shudder he had no prayer of stopping, or even slowing down, coursed a path straight down his spine. The new arrival, a man about Sam's age, give or take a year, with a shock of brown, unruly hair that curled in multiple directions at once, nodded and smiled at him. He had a "freight train coming at him" look to his eyes. Sam was barely able to meet his gaze and nod back. For reasons Sam couldn't identify, this guy freaked him out in a way few rarely did.

Without missing a beat in his conversation Dean partially turned and quirked an eyebrow, eyes scanning Sam. Apparently satisfied Sam wasn't going to blow up, melt down, or vanish into thin air, he returned to selecting car parts. Counter guy disappeared into some back room.

"You okay?" Dean asked. "You looked like you might pass out for a second."

"I'm okay."

Sam watched as creepy guy carried some containers to the counter. He set them down, saying hello to Dean. Sam tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry, too constricted. He had to make a conscious effort to stop from taking a few steps to his right to stand behind his brother. Probably sensing some change in Sam's stance, Dean gave him another curious look and did sidestep a bit closer to Sam before sweeping the store with a more casual than it was gaze. At long last, counter guy returned with Dean's requests.

"Hey Ed, you don't want to use that crap. The only good thing about it is it's cheap." Counter guy spoke to the creep.

"You're just trying to get more money out of me," the creep, Ed, replied.

"He's right, man, that stuff will wreck your engine." Dean picked up a container and wagged it back and forth in one hand for a few seconds. "This stuff is the absolute best."

"Really?"

Sam wished this guy would shut up, pay for his stuff, and leave. Better yet, he wished Dean would shut up, pay for his stuff, and leave. There was no basis for it, but Sam didn't want his brother talking to this guy, Ed. Dean made friends easily, people liked him, and he liked them. He fit in anywhere. Sam was less at ease around others, and rarely engaged them in idle chatter unless he had reason to or wanted information. He fit in nowhere. Dean, Ed, and counter guy were now in some heated debate over whatever was in the containers, though all three were smiling. Sam was nonexistent to two of the three, which was fine by him. Dean however, was forever focused on his brother, even if he appeared not to be. When Sam actively repeated to himself he could not step over and hide behind his brother, Dean moved again, gathered his other items, and sidled up to the counter, making himself a roadblock between Sam and the other two men.

After what seemed an eternity, Dean's purchases were paid for, bagged, and Sam was being nudged on his elbow and guided out the door. Taking one of the bags, Sam followed Dean across the parking lot, casting a few glances back at the two strangers in the store. Dean stopped to put the bags in the car trunk before sliding into the driver's seat, patting Sam's knee.

"Sorry to take so long. Let's find you a nice warm bed."

Sam sneezed, nodded, and hacked.

A half hour later, they were checked into a motel. Sam dragged himself behind Dean into their room, dropping the duffel and bags he carried onto the table. He stood between the beds, watching Dean move about the room. The covers of Sam's bed were pulled back. Stopping in front of Sam, Dean cocked his head to the side, smiling a bit.

"Sam, go to bed." Dean checked his wallet.

"Where you going?"

"To grab some food, I'll be back in a few."

"Going to play pool, find a game, too?"

Smiling softly, Dean shook his head, "No way, kiddo. We're good for a few days." Dean pushed against Sam's shoulder with one finger, dropping him to the bed. When Sam simply sat there, staring up blankly, Dean huffed a sigh. "Sam, take your jacket and boots off. Get under the covers." Not waiting, Dean tugged on Sam's jacket, helping him out of it and hanging it over a chair.

Shrugging out of his outer shirt, kicking off his boots and jeans, Sam wriggled under the sheets and blankets. Dean pulled them up higher on his shoulders, patting his arm. Eyes slipping closed, Sam managed a "Thanks."

"You be okay for a bit? I won't be long."

Sam nodded and yawned, asleep before Dean had the door to their room closed.

* * *

The diner he found not too far from the motel was busy; it was still dinner time. Perching on a stool near the counter, Dean scanned the menu, then the specials board. He settled on getting Sam some soup and a cold sandwich; some stuff just didn't reheat well, and the odds of Sam being awake and coherent enough to eat everything when Dean got back were slim.

Swiveling on the stool, Dean sipped some coffee, leaned back against the counter and took in the diner. It was a typical place; families, people alone, couples on dates, teens, elderly—same picture, different diner.

Dean's eyes wandered the posters and travel brochures lining the wall beside the door, a smile spreading slowly over his face. Maybe this place wouldn't be so bad. They might stick around after they cleared up this case, or at least he'd have something to entertain himself with other than watching Sam drip snot and sleep. Slipping from the stool, Dean thumbed through the brochures, and picked up a thin book, flipping through it.

"Dean."

Turning back to the counter at the sound of his name, Dean smiled at the woman there, "This too." He tucked the book under his arm, the brochures between the bags in the cardboard carrier. "Thanks…Kim."

"Hey, thanks again for the advice on my car." A young man, Sam's age, hung over the pass through from the kitchen. He wore a stained white jacket and hair net.

Dean grinned, always happy to talk cars. "Sure thing. How's she running for you?"

The kid shrugged, "Eh, I don't know, still got a funny ping-knock. Where's your friend?"

Ducking his head to cover the smile sneaking across his face, "Sammy's my little brother. He's back at the motel, sort of under the weather. We'll be in town a few days. Maybe I can help you out with that pinging-knocking thing." Setting his food on the counter, Dean grabbed a napkin and scribbled his cell number on it. "Let me know if you need an extra hand."

"Brother, huh? That's cool. Don't see too many brothers spend a lot of time together." The kid, Ed—Dean finally grabbed his name from somewhere in his head— pocketed the napkin.

Dean shrugged. "I never paid much attention. Anyway, it's just us. We travel a lot."

"Ever been to Sherman's Campground near the Finger Lakes?"

"Yeah." Dean smiled patiently. "A few times. Nice area. Anyway I gotta go, get this back to my brother while it's still hot."

"Hey, I appreciate the help. Enjoy dinner."

Tapping the counter with two fingers, Dean said, "Thanks." He juggled his food and reading material, slipped out the door past a few incoming customers, and got to the car without incident.

Dean repeated his juggling act while pushing the keycard through the slot beside their motel room door, kicking the door shut behind him before crossing to the table, incredibly proud of the fact he'd gotten from the diner to the motel room without losing a drop.

"Where you been?" Sam grouched, sneezing out the last word.

"Bless you." Dean crossed the room with the container of soup, setting it on the nightstand. "I told you I was going out for food. I think you were out of it just enough to not remember."

"Took you a long time," Sam mumbled, shoving himself up farther and leaning back against the headboard.

"The place was crowded. It was only like forty minutes. I got ya vegetable beef and a turkey sandwich."

Sam coughed, muttered something totally unintelligible, and sneezed again. He looked miserable, and Dean didn't blame him for being cranky. He'd been grumpy as a kid when sick and never really outgrew that tendency. Dean learned long ago to ignore most of what Sam said, letting it roll right off.

He shoved a spoon into Sam's hand, and the soup into his other hand. "Eat." Reaching down, he pulled the top off the container. Turning away long enough to dig a bottle of cold medicine from his duffel, retrieve his own food, a chair, and the book he'd bought, Dean settled himself between the beds. "Sam, if you dunk the spoon into the soup, then put it in your mouth, it goes much easier."

"Nnugh."

At least Sam's hand got the spoon moving.

"Look what I found at the diner." Dean held the book up, wagging his eyebrows at Sam. "We _are_ on Lake Champlain here, Sammy."

The spoon stopped halfway to Sam's mouth; he cocked his head to one side, eyebrow arched. "You've _got_ to be kidding."

"No, Sam. This town, Lakeview, is so named because of the lovely view of Lake Champlain." Reaching out, Dean nudged Sam's hand with the back of his own. "Keep shoveling."

"Please tell me you don't think sea monsters are real," Sam garbled out between sneezing, coughing, and swallowing soup.

"I don't know about sea monsters. We're by a lake, not the sea."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You don't actually want to look for this thing, do you? We got a case to work on."

"Now we have two." Dean grinned. Shifting his plate from his lap to the nightstand he opened the small book, scooting his chair closer to the bed so he could show Sam the pictures. "Check it out. According to this, there are a hundred and nine miles of shoreline around Lake Champlain. Earliest sightings date back hundreds of years or more, and both local Native American tribes, the Abenaki and the Iroquois, have legends about a large, serpentine creature inhabiting the lake. The Abenaki called it Tatoskok."

Taking the bottle of liquid cold medicine from Dean, Sam gulped some. "It's a local myth Dean, a big fish."

"How come when it's a spook or funky mind altering herb, myths and legends are believable? Did you know there are similar _legends_ about such creatures all over the world? People have been seeing these things for centuries. Some going back as far as 600 A.D. Scotland has Nessie, the Great Lakes have Bessie, China has Kanasi. Hundreds of such creatures have been sighted."

Sam didn't look impressed. He finished the soup and slid back down in the bed.

"Check this out, Sammy—there's been Plesiosaur fossils found near Loch Ness in Scotland."

"So now we're hunting dinosaurs?" Sam rolled on his side, burrowed farther under the blanket, plumped his pillow a few times, and craned his neck to see the picture Dean was holding out to him.

Dean ignored him and continued reading. "Reports appeared in the newspapers for the rest of that century. In July of 1883 the Clinton County sheriff saw 'an enormous snake or water serpent,' which he estimated to be twenty-five to thirty-five feet long. In 1887, a farm boy spotted the creature 'making noises like a steamboat' a mile out in the lake. That same year, a group of picnickers near Charlotte, Vermont, reported seeing an animal seventy-five feet long and 'big around as a barrel' out in the water."

"Uh huh." Sam yawned.

"Hey, don't get too comfortable, snot-boy. You need to take a shower and brush some germs off your teeth. You can save your sandwich for later."

"Hmmm…'M-kay."

"In 1977, a woman on vacation with her family, Sandra Mansi, snapped a photo of what she described as a prehistoric animal when they stopped along the shore of Lake Champlain. Sandra noticed some 'turbulence' in the water. As she watched, a huge creature with a small head, long neck and a humped back rose out of the lake. The head, which was eight feet above the surface, moved from right to left. To Sandra it appeared to resemble a prehistoric animal.

When her husband returned, he saw it too. Alarmed for Sandra and their children's safety, he got them out of the water and up the six-foot bank. It was at this point Sandra took the photograph with her Instamatic camera. Moments later the creature seemed to sink back into the lake, perhaps startled by a motorboat that was approaching. The whole sighting lasted six or seven minutes."

"You're not going to make me go out in some little dinghy after a sea monster, are you?"

"Lake monster. You believe ghosts are real."

Sam took the box of tissues Dean tossed at him, blew his nose, and coughed. "Uh, that's because they are, and I've seen them."

Flipping the page, Dean continued. "Here, listen to this. Investigations continue at Lake Champlain. Cryptozoologist Roy Mackal visited the lake in 1981 and suggested the creature might be a surviving Zeuglodon, also known as a Basilosaurus. This was a primitive form of whale which had a long snakelike body. It matches the description of many of the reports, but not the Mansi photograph. The fossils of such a creature, thought long extinct, were discovered near Charlotte, Vermont, just a few miles from the lake. Port Henry, New York has a Champ day. Dude, that's not too far. We should go."

When he got no answer from Sam, Dean put the book down, attention turned to his brother.

"You're taking a shower and brushing your teeth as soon as you wake up." Dean pulled the blanket higher up on Sam's shoulders before wiping bangs that were getting greasy and stringy away from his eyes. If there'd been a video game to pry from Sam's fingers it would have been just like when they were kids. Sighing, he returned to his book, looked down at the words and pictures, then over at Sam, sleeping soundly.

Honestly, had he just read his twenty-five year old brother a bedtime story?

* * *

Ed Wakeham finished his shift for the night and waited at the bus stop. Hopefully, when he got paid this week he'd be able to finish repairs on his car and could drive to work. He watched groups of his coworkers leaving the diner, laughing and talking amongst themselves. They were polite to him, said hello, but never asked him to join them.

Neither of the Winchesters remembered him. It didn't surprise him, though he'd never be able to forget them, and recognized them immediately in the parts store. It'd been his second to last summer at Sherman's Campgrounds, before his life fell apart, when he'd met the Winchester brothers. Sam, Sammy was what everyone called him then, had turned eleven in the early spring, Ed—he'd been Eddy, back then—was going to turn twelve in late summer, making him nearly a year older, though people tended to think Sam was older because he was taller.

Ed wasn't surprised neither Dean nor Sam recognized him. Back then he'd been a foot shorter and nearly a hundred pounds heavier. Chunko Eddy, that's what the other kids at the campground called him, but not Dean. Sam barely spoke to him at all, being quiet, nose always stuck in a book. He'd never been mean to Ed, but had never really been friendly, either.

Something had sure registered in Sam when he'd seen Ed walk into the car parts store though. He'd been prepared to see the Winchesters; having recognized the black Impala. There couldn't be two cars like that. Ed thought Sam might just pass out when he strolled through the door, purposely making eye contact, and still intimidating Sam, though it was obvious Sam didn't know where the intimidation came from.

He'd tried so desperately to fit in with them that summer, but there was no room for him.

This time around, he'd make sure they made room for Ed in their lives.


	2. Chapter 2

"So it seems—" Sam blew what had to be a record amount of snot into a tissue, wadded it up and tossed it at the wastebasket. He missed, again, but didn't seem to notice. "—this spirit hangs out on a smaller road going from town to the lakefront. All the drowning victims have had some sort of criminal record." He jerked out another sneeze, Dean leaned away, grimacing. Sam took no notice of that either. "The latest one was a guy who jumped into the water to save his dog. Dog was fine; the guy, however, died. He was, from all accounts, an excellent swimmer. He was also wanted for murder in Michigan. He beat some woman to death for a five gallon gas can full of gas."

Dean nodded and used two fingers to flick yet another tissue that landed near him into the wastebasket. "That's a bit of a coincidence."

Sam snorted, coughed, and nodded. Dean handed him the bottle of liquid cold medicine, snickering when Sam just chugged some, never bothering to read the directions or even use the little cup on the top of the bottle. Years of meticulously measuring out medications for Sam through various hurts and minor ills, and the guy now just gulped down huge swallows, not caring if he was overdosing himself or not.

"What?" Sam looked up from his laptop.

Dean took the bottle. "Don't you think you should at least look to see how much of that you should take?"

"Why? You won't let me take it more than every eight hours anyway. You set the alarm on your watch."

"You saw that?"

"Um humm." Sam grinned at him.

"Good thing, too. This stuff is like forty-proof, probably addictive as hell." Dean tossed the bottle onto the dresser, watching Sam's eyes track it to its resting place. "Don't even think about sneaking a hit between times."

"Yes, Mom," Sam grumbled.

Dean let it slide. "So, is there a connection between the victims?"

"Not that I can find so far, other than they were all born near the Finger Lakes region, and they'd hurt someone somehow."

"Some kind of vengeful spirit then?"

Sam nodded, yawning. "Yeah, I think so. That's most likely."

Dean's cell phone coming to life had him moving from the edge of Sam's bed where he'd perched, to the other side of the room. He frowned, not recognizing the number, but answered anyway. "Hello?"

"Who is it?"

Smiling a bit, Dean held up one finger, amused by Sam's question. Only sick would his brother be this pushy about to whom Dean was talking. "Yeah, sure, I was about to head out for some food anyway. Bye."

"Who'd you give your number to? We've only been here a day?"

"Sam, stop whining."

"I'm not whining." Now he was pouting, too.

Ignoring the fact he should argue the point with the kid, Dean shook his head. "I ran into that guy, Ed, from the parts store last night. He works at the diner I went to. I told him if he needed a hand with his car to give me a call."

Sam coughed then wheezed out, "What about our car? And me?"

"I tuned up our car during your last marathon nap. I'm going to grab us some dinner. See if you can stay awake for more than an hour and figure out the connection between the victims."

"I don't like that guy." Sam was stabbing at the computer keys, not looking at Dean.

That made Dean laugh, "Sam, you don't like anybody."

"That's not true. I like you."

"Doesn't count. You live with me. You _have_ to like me." Dean pulled on his jacket and grabbed his wallet. "Any requests?" He tucked the bottle of nighttime sneezing, sniffling, drug your kid into unconsciousness cold medicine into his duffel. Sam didn't have to know he'd bought a case of the stuff nearly a week ago, having known he'd need it.

"You going to be long?"

Reaching down, Dean patted Sam's knee. "Naw, hour or less, I promise." He gave the blankets over Sam's legs a bit of a tug. "Get some work done, and take a shower. You are starting to stink. You're not going to get better if you're filthy."

"Yeah, yeah."

"I mean it, Sam."

"I'm a big boy, Dean. I think I can get through the day without you reminding me to shower," Sam snapped at him.

Dean bit back the sharp words hovering at the edge of his mouth and swallowed the hurt from Sam's prickly attitude, knowing his words were empty. Sam was sick enough to be miserable and probably felt a bit useless right now. Dean reminded himself, yet again, Sam had always been cranky and snappy when he didn't feel well. It was best for them both if he just ignored him. "I'll be back."

Out the door, careful not to slam it behind him, Dean stopped on the sidewalk, taking a few deep breaths. The smell of lilac permeated the air and focusing on it calmed him. He'd been prepared, he thought, for the attitude, the plain irritability he'd have to live with for at least a few more days. He felt bad for Sam, worried about him, but that didn't always alleviate his slighted feelings or his own frustration. He'd suck it up and deal. He was good at that sort of thing.

He'd known Sam's cold was coming on probably even before his kid brother knew himself. Years of caring for the guy and there was no change in him Dean hadn't seen and cataloged away for future reference. Sam would call him nuts, of course, but Dean's first clue came about a week before Sam started sneezing, sniffing, and blowing snot everywhere. It was simple really; Sam turned into an attention whore when he was sick. Dean had been put on immediate alert the night Sam asked to go to a bar for some burgers, beers, and to "_catch up_". Some "_just them_" time.

Dean guided the Impala out of the parking lot, heading toward the diner, grinning at the memory of Sam wanting to "_catch up_" about a week before he'd started wheezing all over Dean and the Impala. They lived together, practically spent twenty-four-seven together. What on earth could there be for them to "_catch up_" on? How much more "_just them_" time could they possibly have?

Dean stocked up on cold medicine and tissue the next day while Sam haunted some musty old book store.

Reminding himself, yet again, beating his brother comatose until his cold went away wasn't going to be productive, Dean wandered into the same diner as the night before. The place had decent food and a pretty good selection, which was good because between their case and the fact that if Dean was forced to spend days driving in the car with Sam things could turn ugly, meant they'd be here for a few days at least. Dean consoled himself with the thoughts he'd have other interests to occupy his attention while they worked on their case.

"Hi. I hope you don't mind I called." Ed appeared from somewhere behind the counter.

Glancing up from the menu, Dean smiled. "Nope. Not at all. I think you need to adjust the timing a bit more, that's all. Sometimes you have to play with it before it's right."

"Okay, thanks. I'll give that a try." Ed pulled out an order pad. "What can I get for you?"

Dean spent another few minutes considering his choices before placing his order. Normally, he and Sam decided ahead of food run time what they wanted to eat or they went together in search of a diner or bar serving food. Silly as it was, he felt a bit out of sorts, missed Sam's company and his neverending talk. Spending the day working on his car, intermingled with watching Sam do his best impression of a slug (complete with the slime trail) and he was a bit lonely and wanting some company, even if it was just for twenty minutes while he waited on dinner.

There were no obviously interesting women not already attached to a man in the diner. Leaving Sam alone and sick in their motel while he went to find himself some female entertainment didn't feel right. Dean knew he'd not have a good time, and if his heart wasn't in it, well what was the point? Too many years of caring for the kid left Dean with parental instincts and responsibilities that reared their ugly, rational heads at all the wrong times. Sam would never know he'd been gone for a few hours, or the night for that matter, but Dean felt the need to stick close, at least for another day or two.

If he couldn't find it in himself to get laid, he could at least get some conversation, and maybe some information.

"I read about that guy who drowned a few weeks ago. Freaky."

"It sure was." Ed agreed.

Dean sipped the water set in front him. "Did you know him?"

"Not really. I saw him around a bit. He came in here every now and then. His dog is cool. One of the waitresses here adopted him. Cooper, his name is Cooper."

"That's something, saves his dog, and then he drowns. Turns out he was wanted for murder." Dean chuckled. "Talk about poetic justice. I hear there've been quite a few people who've drowned on that stretch of lakefront in the last few years."

Ed shrugged, "I don't know too much about it, don't follow that stuff much. Heard a story or two on the news, I guess."

"Ahh. Sort of a hobby of mine, things involving poetic justice. Those types of stories fascinate me."

"They are pretty cool. Love movies where the good guys win."

"Me too." Dean grinned.

"Hey, I don't live too far from where that guy died. If you're interested in seeing the spot, I know where it is. I'm off tomorrow."

"That'd be great."

Between the fact Ed spent more time talking to him than working, and Kim, the waitress from the night before, made one mean milk shake, Dean didn't end up getting his food order and back to the motel for two hours.

"Where the hell have you been?" Sam stopped pacing, his voice shooting up a few octaves. Arms spread wide, he glared at Dean.

Dean stood blinking at him. "I went for dinner."

"Two hours ago, man! I didn't know what happened, woke up, and you were still gone. I was about to go look for you."

"Sam, why didn't you just call me?"

Sam grabbed Dean's cell phone off the nightstand, shaking it at Dean before he let it fly. It landed on Dean's bed, bounced a few times, then rested near the pillows.

"I'm sorry." Setting their food onto the small table across the room, Dean settled himself in a chair, pushing the other chair toward Sam.

"That guy creeps me out, Dean. Did you have to give him your phone number? Can't we get food from somewhere else?"

"Dude, I'm not dating him. Chill out." Dean gave the chair another shove with his toe. "C'mon, sit down and eat." He watched as Sam lumbered over and slouched in the chair opposite him. "The guy that creeps you out so much lives not too far from where the last guy was killed. Thought I'd go check it out tomorrow."

"You're going to go _visit_ him?"

"No, Sammy, _we_ are. You need some fresh air. What's with you anyway? What have you got against that guy?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. Just…something about him isn't right."

"You think he's involved?" Dean asked between bites.

Another shrug.

Dean sat back, eyeing Sam. His words were cut off by his cell phone. Holding up one finger to Sam in a _hold that thought_ motion, Dean flipped open the phone.

Sam blew out a breath and ate without further comment, or without really looking at Dean. Clearly this young man, Ed, bothered Sam, but he wasn't forthcoming with why, so Dean let that drop, too.

* * *

Sam's pleasant little drug induced world of warmth and sleep was rudely ripped away. Right along with his blankets. Rolling until he was mostly sitting up, he sneezed and coughed. He looked at Dean through blurry eyes; rubbing them did no good.

"Sam!" Dean barked at him, obviously angry.

Looking around for whatever threat had Dean so worked up, and finding none, Sam simply sat there, blinking at him. "Uh, what?"

The blankets got another harsh jerk, this time ending on the floor. "Get your ass up. What the hell is with you? If you don't get moving, take a shower, and brush the scum off your teeth _I'm_ doing it for you!"

"What's with _me_?" Sam climbed from the bed to face off his brother. "What the hell is with _you_?" He could shout just as well as Dean. "I can take care of myself!"

"Obviously you can't, since I have to tell you to get out of that germ pit you've been in for two days and clean up."

"You know what? I don't need you telling me what to do!" Sam's fists clenched. He marched across the room and upended his duffel, throwing aside items until he found his shaving kit, toothbrush and clean clothes. "You're not my mother." As he snapped out the final words at Dean, Sam straightened and turned enough to look his brother in the eye.

Dean's expression made Sam immediately regret what he'd said, how he'd acted.

"Yeah!?" Dean's finger stabbed the air between them.

"Dean…I—"

"Well, guess what, Sammy? I'm the closest thing to one you've ever had, so suck it up and clean up!" Dean's voice reverberated straight through Sam, shimmying through his chest to course along his bones.

Sam had screwed up. Seriously screwed up. Dean almost never yelled at him unless Sam hurt him some how, or was in danger of having his head taken off by some nasty they were hunting.

Dean turned away from him, heading fast toward the door.

"Dean. Wait. Where are you—?"

His answer was the door slamming so hard it knocked one of the pictures from the motel wall. Sam listened for a few seconds, but didn't hear the rumble of their car engine. Dropping his chin to his chest, Sam pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. No matter how much he'd reminded himself _be nice to Dean_, it seemed whenever he was sick, he'd do or say something completely not nice.

Of course, the worst part was Dean had been right. Sam needed to clean up. Moving quietly to the window, Sam sidled up and pulled the curtain back just a bit. He caught a glimpse of Dean walking along the sidewalk, away from the motel. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, and his shoulders had a hunch to them that read plain and clear to Sam. Pissed off, hurt, needs some space.

Sighing, Sam turned away and headed to the shower. Dean spent his life doing for and giving to Sam. It was high time Sam grew up and returned the favor.

* * *

The first ten minutes, Dean paid no attention to where he was going. He moved along the sidewalk, barely noticing anyone he sidestepped, simply wanting to blow off steam. He needed to find something to hit, or preferably kill. Something that wasn't in the size and shape of his little brother.

He'd have to settle for a good, brisk walk, some fresh air, and a few minutes to calm down.

Sam didn't mean his words. He rarely meant things he said when he was angry. Dean knew that. Words just tumbled, unbridled, from the kid's mouth. It was the Sam Winchester version of an angry upper cut to the jaw.

Their motel was maybe, at the most, a half mile from the lakeshore. The sidewalk eventually ended, sandy beach taking up where concrete left off. There was a drop off a dozen or so yards from the lake. Steps lead from the beach down to the waterfront and a small, secluded vantage point was nestled among vines, overgrown brush, and trees.

Dean picked his way carefully down the slimy moss covered steps. If he wasn't careful, he'd slip and no doubt, tumble down. Finding him, or anyone else, in this little spot might be difficult if none of the locals thought to look. The steps and look-out didn't appear well traveled or well used. Probably some long forgotten spot.

He sat, letting his feet dangle over the small wall, and watched as the lake water lapped and splashed against it.

Taking some deep breaths, Dean felt calmer. His shoulders relaxed, tension easing from his arms. He'd bring Sam here when his equilibrium was restored. Dean had no wish to chase his brother, rolling down the steep steps when he lost his balance, to the water.

Leaning back on his elbows, Dean watched the water, remembering bigger lakes had tides too. High tide had peaked earlier that morning. The waves rolled out, working toward low tide.

Scanning the shoreline, Dean could barely make out openings, maybe caves or smugglers' tunnels dotting the steep, rocky cliffs. He'd read, or seen on TV, long ago, how during Prohibition, bootleggers built secret rooms under their houses accessible only from the water. Maybe there were some of those around here. The shoreline could have changed just enough in the time since then to make a few of them partially visible. Or maybe they'd been decoys.

Movement in the water made him squint, then sit more upright. A dark shape skimmed just beneath the surface and he leaned forward even more. Gripping the sides of the embankment at the last second, not wanting to end up down in the water, he stared. Jaw dropping down, he could do nothing but sit there and track the underwater shadow with his eyes.

Barely breathing, Dean sat, completely transfixed by the sight. As suddenly as it appeared, it was gone, heading away, diving to deeper waters.

Sam was going to _flip_ when Dean told him.

Scrambling to his feet, and taking the slippery steps a precarious three at a time, Dean headed back to the motel and his cranky brother.

Dean was pulling the sheets off Sam's bed when he came slinking out of the bathroom, looking contrite. It always made Dean wonder; how did a six foot four guy manage to look like a small child and slink anywhere?

"Hey."

Wadding the offending sheets into a ball, Dean tossed them at the door. "Come on, Sammy, get dressed. I've got something to show you."

"Dean…I'm sorry….I didn't—"

"Okay, good. Now make it up to me and move your ass."

Sam watched him for a minute, shoulders slumping a bit further, but at least he got dressed. Dean all but shoved him out the door, and stuffed him into the car.

"You sure are anxious to get to Ed's."

"Huh?" Dean glanced away from the road long enough to give Sam a quick visual. Attention back on the road, he laughed. "Not really. There's something I want to show you first."

Sam eyed him suspiciously, but kept quiet.

Finding a parking spot not far from where the steps were, Dean hustled Sam to the edge. Sam stood at the top of the steps, staring down.

"You ran me out here to show me old, slimy steps?" Sam shrugged. "I'm not impressed."

"No, Sam, don't be ridiculous." Dean started down the steps. "You coming?" Sam sneezed and coughed a few times. He looked at the steps, clearly not sure about venturing down them. "Just take it slow. Watch, they're slippery. If you fall, you'll just hit me. C'mon," he coaxed.

Sam sighed, shook his head a bit, and moved gingerly down the steps, arms out to make up for his missing internal balance. Finally he was standing beside Dean near the break wall.

"Out there." Dean pointed to the lake.

Sam nodded wisely. "Water."

"Sammy, I saw it!"

"Saw what?"

"_Champ_. Right there." Dean pointed to the spot he'd seen the shadow beneath the surface.

Sam threw both hands in the air then let them drop and thud against his sides. "Aw, Dean, you dragged me down here to see something that doesn't exist? It's a myth." His eyes roamed the water. "Look, it's just the shadows over the water surface. The sun hits just right, with the trees…"

"Sam, I know what I saw, and it wasn't the play of light on the water."

Crossing arms over his chest, Sam wheezed and coughed some more. "We have a case to work."

"You don't believe me?"

Sam sighed. "Of course I believe you when you say you saw something. But I don't think it was some sea monster, just an optical illusion."

"After everything we've seen, how can you not even think a little bit it could be real?"

"Because I just don't think it is. Where're the dead bodies? Why are there never good pictures?"

"Maybe you can't see it, and I did, because I believe it could be real."

Rolling his eyes, Sam turned back to the steps. "Can we just go meet your boyfriend and get this over with?"

"He's _not_ my boyfriend."

"Whatever, Dean."

Dean caught the smirk on Sam's face. He gave his brother's back a shove, moving him a bit faster. Once at the top, Dean stopped, looking out over the water again.

"We need to check into the land more." He pointed along the shoreline. "See there, caves or maybe rumrunners' tunnels."

Sam twisted, eyes following Dean's outstretched arm. He leaned against the car for a few seconds before nodding. "Yeah, those I see. I'll check into it when we get back."

Dean guided the car back to the road. Time to get working on their case in earnest.


	3. Chapter 3

The minute Dean pulled the car down the drive and to the back of Ed's house, Sam saw his presence hadn't been intended, wanted or planned for. Ed waved congenially, smiling until Sam climbed from the car. The instant he and Sam made eye contact the smile dropped from Ed's face, replaced with something closer to a scowl.

Seeing Ed's face, Dean shot an apologetic glance back at Sam, jerking his chin ever so slightly, signaling Sam to follow along. Reluctantly Sam stepped away from the car and caught up to his brother. He worked hard to swallow the urge to just turn and run back to the safety of the Impala. Shoving his elbow against Dean's side, he couldn't resist mouthing the word _boyfriend_ when Dean turned to him. That got him a push from Dean's foot against his shin. Sam decided sticking close to his big brother was the most prudent course of action right now.

Hands stuffed in his pockets, Sam tipped his head at Ed and added a softly spoken, "Hey," to Dean's louder, "Hi there."

"So, feeling better?" Ed's gaze rested on Sam, making him shiver. A second shiver, he managed to suppress. Sam watched Dean's expression change slightly, saw him tense for a few seconds and shift his weight from one foot to the other, inching closer to Sam. He'd noticed, too.

"Yeah," Sam wheezed out with a cough and a sneeze. Offering a shy smile, he added, "Well, not really."

"There're some beers in the cooler." Ed waved in the direction of a small _Igloo_. "Help yourselves. I've got some burgers on the grill."

The glare Dean gave him when Sam poked his side, this time mouthing "_date_", had Sam ducking his head and heading for the cooler to fish out beers. Sam took a look around at the property. The house was nothing special—small and needing some attention. The yard had seen better days. Once, there'd probably been a nice lawn, and he saw the remains of a hedge. To one side of the house was a small, man-made lagoon with a decaying boat dock. Every few feet, thick strands of wire were exposed where the cement had broken and crumbled loose.

"So…um….how far is it from here? Where the people died?" Dean rubbed at the back of his head, following Ed to the grill. He peeked over Ed's shoulder. "We've…uh….kinda got a lot to do today."

Pointing with the beer Sam handed him toward a dirt road winding through some trees and out of sight, Ed said, "It's that way. Beyond those trees is a bit of beach, but it's not as nice as some other spots; not as many people go there as other places around here." He scooped the burgers off the grill, dropped them on a plate, covered them and closed the grill.

They went the opposite direction of the boat dock, though Sam could still see it through the trees. Sam trailed along behind, while Dean walked the dirt road beside Ed, asking a few questions about other drownings. Ed claimed not to know much, which Sam wasn't entirely sure he believed. When their conversation drifted away from the area's odd occurrences and to cars, Sam hung back even further. Their EMF detector was stashed in his jacket pocket. He wandered closer to the lake, glancing every few seconds at the detector. The needled jumped a bit, but didn't spike. Turning away from the water, careful Ed didn't see what he was doing, Sam walked a few yards one way, then the other. The needle jumped back and forth. There was something here or had been. It wasn't the best, but it was a start.

Stuffing the EMF detector out of sight, he casually made his way closer to Ed and his brother. Another shiver was suppressed when Ed turned his way. The look of disapproval was covered, but not quickly enough. Sam saw it. What he'd done, or why this guy disliked him was as much a mystery to Sam as his own feelings toward the man. Maybe the guy was just sensing Sam's discomfort, which was now starting to border on hostility.

Moving quietly back to Dean's side, Sam tried to avoid eye contact with Ed altogether. Fortunately, for now, Ed was still a few yards away.

Dean fished the car keys from his pocket, holding them out to Sam. "Why don't you go back? I'll help him out with his car for a bit and call you when I'm ready." He kept his voice low.

Sam just glared at him and the keys, keeping his hands firmly in his pockets. "Our case." He ground out. No way was he leaving Dean alone here with this guy.

"I'll find out what I can about the area and the other victims." Dean's voice was low, but strained.

"So do ya think I'll have to get a new one, or can the old one be rebuilt?" Whatever part of the car Ed was talking about was known only to Ed and Dean.

"Dean," Sam hissed. Standing partially behind him, he jostled Dean's side with his elbow when Ed turned to point out something out along the shoreline. Turning far enough to meet Sam's eyes, Dean raised his eyebrows but made no comment. He didn't have to. Sam glowered, knowing Dean could read him so well he'd know what Sam was trying to say. Sam could read Dean well enough to know Sam's unspoken sentiment was annoying the crap out of his brother.

"Ah, I think it can be rebuilt, if you have the patience for it." With a slight shake of his head and a sigh, Dean stepped away from Sam, clapping Ed on the shoulder. "Hey, this has been great. I appreciate it." A quick glance back at Sam, "We both do."

"Yeah. Thanks." Sam managed a weak smile if for no other reason than to appease Dean.

"I can get together a list of supplies you'll need to finish your car and give you a call later or tomorrow. It'll all come together, don't worry." Dean smiled then turned and nudged Sam along toward the car.

"I sure do appreciate the help. You sure you can't stay for lunch?"

"No." Sam said a bit too quickly. "Like my brother said, we…uh…have a lot to do today. But thanks." He struggled to keep his breathing even, normal.

Once at their car, Sam stood on the passenger side, waiting until Dean was in before he bent into the seat.

"Want to tell me what the hell _that_ was all about?" Dean's knuckles were white around the steering wheel. He never wavered his gaze from the road in front of them. Another tip off to Sam just how irritated, if not plain angry, Dean was.

"A lot of people died right near his house. We don't know that guy. We don't know he's not involved."

Turning a corner, Dean finally spared him a glance. He snorted. "I know what your problem is."

"I don't have a problem Dean. I'm being practical."

"You're jealous."

"Jealous?" Sam's voice cracked; he wheezed and shoved a tissue against his face in time to catch a sneeze. "Of what?"

"You spent half our lives, Sam, bitching and moaning about being normal. Telling me I should make friends, have more than this life, more than just you. Then what do you do? You get all pissy when I make a friend." Dean snickered, "What's a matter, Sammy, afraid I'll trade you in on a better model?"

"That's not true."

"Yeah? Then give me one good, solid reason why you didn't want me to stay."

"I don't know!" How could Sam explain what he didn't understand himself? "When I saw him in the parts store he freaked me out. I don't know why, but it has nothing to do with you being friends with anyone."

"And you have no idea why he freaked you out so much?" Dean's voice was still edgy, but his grip on the steering wheel relaxed some, as did his shoulders.

"No," Sam shrugged. "Just…I don't know…it was like a bunch of alarms went off in my head, and I have no idea why."

"We're going to have to go back, check out that area more thoroughly."

"I got a few readings, nothing much. I'd like some more background on the victims."

Dean nodded. "All right. Let's hit the library. City hall too. Then we can worry about going back."

As long as Ed wasn't tagging along, and Dean wasn't there alone, Sam figured nosing around the place might get them some answers. Going back when they'd be able to quietly check things out was added to their to-do list.

* * *

Ed watched the Impala, and Dean, drive away. Sam hadn't changed much over the years—still a spoiled brat, certainly not deserving of a brother like Dean. Dean was even more awesome than Ed remembered. He was Superman, Hoss Cartwright and Rick Simon all rolled into one grand and glorious package. He was every big brother Ed had ever read about or watched for years in movies and on TV.

How he envied Sam, having a big brother like Dean, always having someone to count on. It wasn't fair. He was no longer Chunko Eddy. He was grown up and had been handed a second chance to have what he wanted; the family, the big brother, he wished for every night of his life. This time Ed wasn't going to let anything stand in his way. Even if that _anything_ was Sammy Winchester.

That summer the Winchesters had been in Sherman's Campground with him, it had been Sam who had kept Ed from being a part of the happy little group that was Dean and Sam. It had been Sam who had been sure his big brother didn't spend much time with Ed, or let him join in their activities. He'd tried so desperately to be a friend to Dean, a brother worthy of what Dean had to offer.

Sam wasn't going to stand in his way this time. He'd either let Ed in, or he'd be the one gone.

Ed had worked hard that summer at finding ways to spend time with Dean, just the two of them. He could do it again. They had things in common; Ed would use those things.

His exile from the Winchester brothers started long before the injury that completely severed the tenuous friendship between them and Ed. It was Sam's fault. Sam's broken arm had cinched the deal, leaving Ed alone and at the mercy of the other kids at the campground who were relentless with their taunts and harassment. At least when he had even the vague attachment to Dean Winchester that had stopped for a short time.

If it hadn't been for Sam and his damn neediness that summer, Ed's life would have been great. He would have been accepted and one of the cool kids for once. The only reason any of them put up with him was because his family had money back then, before it was all taken away the next year. Ed had the cool toys.

Sam, however, clumsy and a general annoyance, had broken his arm. Dean spent his remaining days there caring for his younger brother, Ed forgotten and left at the mercy of the campground bullies.

He wondered, did Sam ever know what it felt like to be abandoned in the ways Ed had?

It was time Ed was paid back for what he'd lost.

* * *

Once Sam was safely deposited at the closest library, Dean headed for city hall and the records department. The records themselves gave him some details, but it was the elderly lady in charge of the records department who provided the most information. A few cups of coffee, a heaping helping of charm and smiles and Dean left a few hours later with plenty of leads and details on both his cases.

He settled in the Impala, taking a few minutes to sort out the copies he'd made and the notes he'd taken before calling Sam. The way his brother's voice caught and cracked made Dean wince. Sam sounded terrible. Every other word was punctuated by a cough, a sneeze or both. It didn't take a lot of convincing on his part to get Sam to agree it was time to pick him up. Promising to be there in twenty minutes, after one quick stop, Dean knew Sam was feeling pretty crappy when he didn't argue. Dean didn't have to put his foot down too hard when he decided Sam was done for the day and was going back to the motel.

Planning on nothing but a fast pass through the auto parts store, Dean walked up and down the aisles, making the promised list for Ed.

"Hey there."

Dean turned at the sound of footsteps and the voice. Chuckling, he said, "Hi, I was just checking on some of the stuff you might need. Wanted to be sure you could get everything okay."

"Wow." Ed leaned in, reading the list Dean had created for him.

The guy, of course, had questions, and Dean answered each one patiently. He drew a few diagrams and helped Ed pick out the right equipment for his car. His phone clattering in his pocket just as he was about to head out the door stopped him. "Sammy, I'll be there in a few minutes."

"_You said you'd be here a half hour ago_."

Dean could practically hear the eye roll. The annoyed huff Sam didn't even attempt concealing.

"Sorry, lost track of time. Things took longer than I thought they would."

"This one?" Ed held up a small package for Dean's approval.

"No, the other ones, that shelf, over there."

"_Who are you talking to? Where are you_?"

"A store. Sit tight. I'm leaving now." Dean shook his head, flipped his phone shut, rubbed the back of his neck and snickered. Turning his attention back to Ed, he said, "I'd better go collect Sammy before he starts reorganizing their card catalog or something. You give me a call if you run into a snag or have questions."

"There's a band playing at a place near here. I know some of the guys, if you're interested."

"Thanks, but we've got a lot of work to do. Besides Sam's probably not interested in a noisy bar tonight. Another time." He gave Ed a quick smile before ducking out the door.

By the time Dean reached the library, Sam was pacing outside. He blew out an angry breath and slammed the car door. Barely settled in the seat, he snapped out, "You went back to that guy's house, didn't you?"

Closing his eyes for a few beats, thinking calming thoughts, Dean kept his voice as quiet and even as possible. "No, Sam. I went to the parts store. He was there. I ran into him."

"What if he's part of this?"

"Well, if he is, I don't think he was going to do anything in the air filter aisle."

"Dean—"

"Give it a rest, Sam. He's just a lonely kid. He's harmless." A few deep breaths and Dean had to remember not to drive up a telephone pole. He eased his foot off the gas, keeping their speed under the limit, and forced himself to sit back. Time to change the subject. "I found some interesting facts. Seems a sweet old lady down at city hall by the name of Clarice was delighted to have someone to tell her stories to. She knows a lot about Prohibition. First hand, I think."

That got a smile from Sam.

He reached over, shoved against Sam's shoulder and rubbed his arm a few times. "What did you find?"

"Promise me you won't go to his house alone."

"Sam," Dean snarled out.

"Dean, please. Just humor me on this. Please?"

Glancing at Sam, giving his arm a squeeze before pulling his hand back to the steering wheel, Dean sighed. Sam gazed at him with eyes a bit too round, his face a bit too pale. "You have no idea why Ed freaks you out so much?"

Sam's head shook side to side slowly.

"Okay. Okay, if it'll make you feel better, and stop bitching, I won't go there alone. But that means you'll have to go back with me."

"I know." Sam's voice sounded raw and strained. "Maybe next time we can go when Ed's not home."

Dean snickered. "What ya find out?"

Sam opened a notebook, resting it on his knees. "Nothing going back as far as Prohibition, not directly anyway. I tracked down info on most the victims. There is a tie-in, I think."

Putting the car in park a few spaces down from their motel room, Dean collected his own notes and copies, grinning at Sam. "Great. Let's get this sorted out."

Sam trailed behind him into the motel and didn't argue when Dean pushed him toward the bed. He quietly drank down the cold medicine Dean handed him. Ten minutes and Sam was sleeping, notes and files spread over his chest and along the edges of his bed. Dean collected everything, stacking it on the small table near the window. Pulling the blankets over Sam, he scribbled a note saying he was going for dinner, in case the kid woke up while he was gone, and slipped quietly out the door.

The diner was ridiculously busy, so instead of waiting an hour, Dean snagged a bag of Doritos from a nearby gas station. Driving back to the same lookout spot he'd found the day before, he settled on the break wall. He munched his chips and stared out over the lake.

The water was calm, small ripples from the tide the only break in the glass-like surface. The overhanging trees moved with the slight breeze, making shadows shimmer and jump across the water. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe what he'd seen was nothing more than the play of light over the water. Maybe Sam was right about Ed, too. Sam didn't overreact like that without reason. It may not always be a reason Dean agreed with, or even thought valid. The main point was Sam thought it was, and was more disturbed than Dean had seen him in a long time.

Stretching and pushing out a sigh, Dean braced one hand against the old stone and pulled one leg under him, lifting off the ground. He needed to get some food and get back. He could get a lot of work done on their files while Sam slept off his cold medicine-induced coma.

Water hitting the break wall made him twist his head around, giving one last look at the lake.

Falling back, his butt hit the solid stone of the wall so hard and fast he nearly ended up sliding right into the lake.

Skimming just under the surface was a dark shape, definitely no play of light on the water. If he had doubts, the head, exposed to its snout ending in two large nostrils blowing in and out, eyes that were round, deep and dark with stupidly long lashes, and a forehead a dinner party of ten could sit comfortably around squelched those doubts completely.

Dean sat there, not moving, barely breathing, gun forgotten, blinking.

The round, deep, dark eyes with stupidly long eyelashes blinked back.

"Holy crap." He exhaled. He had to remember to inhale and exhale again. "You're…you…" He extended one arm, pointing. Swallowing hard, Dean sat back.

The head breeched the water completely, the shadow it was attached to gliding closer. A long neck pushed the head completely away from the water, causing droplets to rain down for a minute from its gun-metal gray nose, lips, and the nubs on the top of its head Dean took to be ears. A quick shake had him covered in a fine mist of lake water.

"Shit."

The head turned a bit sideways, watching him.

Remembering the bag of Doritos he gripped in his other hand, Dean brought it slowly to his lap and stuck his free hand inside. All the while he was acutely aware of the fact the creature in front of him could probably bite him in half with one big chomp. Fishing in the bag, Dean brought out a chip and offered it. A long tongue, split at the tip, moved out of the mouth. With a surprising gentleness, the chip was taken from Dean's outstretched hand. The tongue was soft along the side, with a row of rougher flesh stripping the top.

A second chip was taken. The creature moved in until its chest bumped the break wall just below Dean's feet.

"I gotta bring Sammy back here to see you. He doesn't believe, but you'll let him see you too, right?"

Down went a third chip.

The water to the creature's left splashed and sloshed. A second head appeared. The body attached to that one was nearly as long as the first, but the face looked younger. This one's skin was a few shades lighter, with a bit of mottling under its eyes and along the sides of its face, giving the illusion of dimples. It poked the larger one under the jaw, getting a slap from a broad, long tail in return.

When Dean offered the new arrival some Doritos the first creature moved between them, pushing its companion back a few feet. Taking the chips from Dean with its tongue, it turned enough to let the younger one take the chips from it.

Fumbling in his pocket, Dean yanked out his phone. Aiming the camera at the two creatures bobbing in the gently rolling water, he lined up the shot. They'd make a million dollars. Sam would believe him. Dean could give Sam back his college dream.

The younger creature poked again, and slapped its own tail at the older one. The larger one responded by rolling against it, sliding so it could see Dean, but keeping itself between the younger one and the shore.

Dean's finger hovered over the button on his phone. He had no idea if the pair was mates, siblings or parent and offspring, but it didn't matter. He recognized the moves for what they were. They were a team, a family.

Like Sam and him.

If he took pictures and made them public these two would be hunted down, maybe captured. Separated.

The smaller of the pair slapped one flat, oblong flipper against the surface, spraying Dean and the other creature with water.

The larger of the two creatures shifted its gaze between the smaller creature and Dean.

Laughing, he nodded. "Yeah, I got one of those, too. Pain in your tail, isn't he?" He handed over more Doritos.

The smaller creature flipped around, diving under the water. Dean watched its form under the water as it swam from the shoreline. One last Doritos and the larger head dipped under the water and was gone, following the smaller creature.

They were going to solve their case and then Sam's ass was sitting right here until he saw them too. Sam had to see this. He _had to_.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam rubbed his eyes and blinked, having to work for a few seconds to pry his eyelids apart. His lashes were covered in goop. Rolling up on one arm he squinted, wondering why he couldn't see well. It took another minute for him to realize the room was dark.

"Damn stubborn bastard," Sam grumbled, pushing against the bed until he was sitting upright. Dean had gone back to Ed's property to check it out, Sam was sure. It was the only explanation for him waking up alone in the room.

Reaching for the light, he knocked it over, fumbled with it for a few minutes, and finally found the switch. Bracing his elbows against his knees, Sam rubbed hands over his face a few times in an attempt to wake up. His chest tightened, and not from his cold. He had no idea how long he'd been asleep, how long Dean had been gone. His hand slapped the table, searching for his phone.

When the door bounced open, Sam stilled.

"Hey, you're awake. Good."

The overhead light accompanied the deep voice from the door. Sam squinted even more, momentarily blinded. "Yeah," was all he managed.

A cup of coffee was shoved into his hand. "I figured you'd need this. How you feeling? Have a good nap?"

Sam stared at the thing parading around as his brother, talking fast, and smiling like he'd just been offered a lifetime supply of M&M's _and_ double D triplets. He sipped the coffee and watched Dean move the files to the center of the table. Burgers were set down.

"Hungry? I'm starved."

Moving slowly from bed to table, Sam glared. "Where were you?" He pushed the words out, feeling his chest tighten down even more, his stomach lurch with every word.

Dean stopped chewing, studying him for a minute. Setting his burger down, he folded both hands in front of him, laying them on the table. "I went to get some food while you slept. The place was crazy busy, so I got some chips and went to the lake to take another look around."

Feeling the flush work its way from his chest up his neck and across his cheeks, Sam stared down at his feet. "I thought you went back to Ed's property."

"No." Dean's fingers tapped something on the table. "I did get us a movie."

Relief flooded Sam's senses. He sat still for a minute, concentrating on breathing evenly and making the floor stop shimmering and swimming. He gulped a few swigs of coffee. The warmth felt good going down and revived him even more.

"You okay?" Dean's voice was uncharacteristically soft.

Looking up, Sam was met with his brother's eyes. Dean looked concerned, worried, and confused. "Yeah. I'm okay. Just disoriented from waking up." He smiled and looked away, embarrassed by his reaction to Ed and to Dean's absence. Dean went on eating; pretending to ignore it, but Sam knew Dean recognized the act. "What did you get?" He pulled the movie closer, reading the cover. "Dean! _The Waterhorse_?"

Dean's grin nearly split his face in two. "Research, Sammy."

"You're still not stuck on that thing, are you?"

"Sam, I saw them. _Two_ of them."

"All right." Sam sighed. "You're still not getting me out on that lake in some leaky dinghy, so forget it." He snatched one of the files from the stack, opened it, and flipped it around for Dean to see.

"I can't believe you don't believe me." Dean held one hand over his heart, making a wounded face.

"If I believe you, can we get onto killing the ghost?"

"You're such a spoilsport." Shoving a burger at Sam and pulling the file closer, Dean flipped through it. "Clarice at city hall makes damn fine coffee, and was a fountain of information. This entire area was populated in the nineteen-twenties by people who made their money selling illegal booze. Ed mentioned there were smuggler's hideouts under his house, only accessed through the water. I think we saw some of the tunnels, too. Clarice confirmed the whole area is riddled with them.

"In 1923, a young girl by the name of Abby Sherman lived around here. Her family owned and some of their descendants still own, property all through upstate New York. That year she became engaged to a man by the name of Richard Wyle. Seems ole Ricky was one of those bootleggers. Abby, on the other hand, was devoutly religious, law abiding, and very much in favor of Prohibition."

"What happened?" Sam asked. The coffee had eased the ache in his throat and perked him up enough that his burger actually had taste.

"Abby found out about Richard's um…employment…and the story goes he killed her when she was going to turn him in."

"Nice."

"Yeah. After her death some of Richard's business associates, and eventually Richard himself, met with a bit of a watery end right near where we were today. Richard killed Abby by trapping her in one of the hidden rooms. Some of them are completely underwater when the tide comes in."

Sam couldn't stop his jaw from dropping. "He left her to drown? Someone he loved? Someone he should have protected?"

Dean nodded solemnly. "Pretty crappy if you ask me. Every one of the victims has been someone who broke the law, usually resulting in the death of someone else. I was thinking not so much a vengeful spirit, but a _revengeful_ spirit."

"Dean—" Sam's stomach did a nasty flip. "We've broken the law. We've killed things."

"I'm not sure it's the same thing, but, yeah, we need to be extra careful when we're around that road and beach." Dean groaned. "We're never going to find her body."

"Yet another reason for you to not go there alone." Sam ignored the dirty look Dean gave him and opened another of the files. "I found more recent tie-ins. In 1995 two brothers," Sam smiled and dipped his chin at the files, "also last name of Sherman, were here from Australia visiting a campground owned by relatives."

"Sherman's Campground?"

"Yeah. Were we there?"

"A few times. The first time was with Dad…well he left us there. That was the summer you broke your arm. The other time it was just you and me. We were there in winter, right before you left for Stanford."

Sam didn't miss the soft hitch in Dean's voice. His throat tried closing again. More coffee helped ease the feeling to something manageable. Dean tapped his forearm, motioning impatiently with one hand for Sam to continue.

"Anyway, according to the article," Sam pulled it out, reading out loud, "William, age thirteen, the younger of the Sherman brothers, was accidentally killed in what appeared to be a type of hazing ritual by other campground regulars. His body was found at the bottom of a steep ravine. Witnesses claim he was enticed to the edge on some sort of dare and fell off. His death was ruled an accident. Geoffrey, age eighteen, the older of the two, accused two other boys of purposely pushing William off the cliff. He used a stolen gun, shot and killed the two boys. The father of a third boy tried to intervene and was shot in the head. He lived long enough to bankrupt his family, dying several years later. He was survived by a wife and son. His wife committed suicide two years after his death. Geoffrey was shot and killed during his rampage by police. The bodies of Geoffrey and William were cremated for shipment back to Australia for burial."

Memory of their summer at that campground made Sam dizzy and lightheaded for a few seconds. The similarity between what happened to the Sherman brothers, and what happened to the Winchester brothers the summer prior made his stomach churn and ooze toward his intestines. A short laugh to cover his shaky voice—Sam was sure he was sweating, "Guess I got off lucky." He still felt the horror of the events, the intense fear from the memory of that campground, those boys, how the ground near the ravine disappeared as he skidded down, nothing but air under him.

"What are you talking about?" Dean stopped eating, went still and stared at Sam.

Sam's stomach did a complete dive. He looked up at Dean, sure he was paling as he spoke. "I thought you knew."

"Knew what?" This time Dean's voice rose, his expression darkening.

"You beat those kids up. You got me a Gameboy. I thought you knew, and felt bad, and that was why." Sam's mind flitted over one excuse then the next. There was nothing he could do to take this back, to not tell Dean the truth.

"Knew what?!" Dean demanded again. "Sam, I got you a Gameboy because we were stuck in a shitty campground, it was hot and you had a broken arm. I wanted you to have something to do. I wanted to take your mind off things. I beat those kids up because they were fifteen or sixteen and shouldn't have dared an eleven-year-old to go to the edge of a ravine. You weren't the most coordinated kid then, and you fell. I spent damn near a day looking for you. It pissed me off!"

"It was a long time ago, it doesn't matter—"

"Knew _what_?!" Shouting, Dean stood and slammed his hands flat against the table.

Sam swallowed hard, feeling eleven again. "I didn't fall." Damn, didn't his voice sound small? "I was thrown."

Dean literally stumbled backwards and collapsed onto his chair. His head dropped forward, "You were what?" His words came out a rough whisper, pushed out through a tightened jaw.

"It was a dare, but not how you thought. Those other boys, they were all afraid of you. That kid that was always hanging around you, he dared them they wouldn't shove me off the cliff because they were too afraid of you. They did it to prove otherwise I guess. I thought you beat them up and got me the Gameboy to make it up to me."

"They hurt you to show they weren't afraid of me?"

Sam could only nod. Dean was pale, and shaking. He could never understand something like that. Sam had never intended to make it an issue, knowing what it would do to his brother. Dean, whose goal in life was to protect the world, in general, and Sam, in particular, from everything bad and evil, from anything that hurt or caused suffering. He'd see this as nothing but a failure on his part.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault. I never thought it was or blamed you. The whole bunch of them were nothing but assholes and bullies. You would have never let that happen if you knew."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"That kid who was always hanging around, he said his mother knew people in social services. He told me he'd have Dad put in jail, and you locked up in juvenile, and I'd go to a home and never see you again."

"And you believed that pile of bull?"

Sam's shoulders sagged as he sighed. "Dean, I was eleven. Of course I believed him. I didn't want to make you feel like you do now. I thought you knew, so what was the point of saying anything?"

"That kid was your friend. Why would he do that?"

Sam barked a laugh, "My friend? He hated me from the get-go. He hung around you, not me."

"I was probably just nice to him 'cause I thought he was your friend. You wanted friends." Dropping his head until he rested it on the table for a few beats, Dean ran one hand over his hair when he finally looked up. "Sam, I never knew."

"Hey," Sam reached out, fingertips brushing Dean's arm, "It's okay. I didn't end up like William Sherman. You made sure of that. In the end you protected me from them. That's all that counts, all I care about. It could have been a lot worse. It was a lot worse for the Shermans."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Dean seemed to huddle in on himself. Sam knew his brother, knew he wouldn't let this go very easily. He also knew what to do to get Dean to work beyond this. Dean needed something to focus on and to set things right.

"We solve this case, stop the killings, and that will help the spirit, or spirits cross over. That's what we need to do." Sam's fingers wound around Dean's wrist, squeezing until Dean's eyes were drawn back to his own and he had Dean's attention. "It's all we can do."

"S-Sherman's Campground is only about an hour from here." Dean spoke slowly, as if it was a tremendous effort. Sam knew it probably was. "It's entirely possible someone here now has ties to there, or there is something here one of the spirits is attached to. The two boys were cremated, but Abby Sherman wasn't. What about the man who was shot, or the others killed? We've got a plethora of angry spirits and nothing to attach them to."

"My money is on Geoffrey and William."

"No bones," Dean pointed out. "And cremated. Abby is the more likely candidate."

"No bones that we're likely to find."

"Great. Just great. No one has any bones to salt and burn. What about the man shot trying to stop Geoffrey Sherman?"

"No name. I looked everywhere I could, neither he nor his wife's or son's names were listed anywhere."

"That's gonna make it difficult to find him, Sammy."

Sam had to agree on that point.

Dean stood, gathered the food wrappers and tossed them in the wastebasket. Hooking his fingers under his jacket and making a big show of checking for his phone and wallet, he headed toward the door.

"Where are you going?"

"Sherman's Campground, I'll be back in a few hours."

"It'll be dark by the time you get there." Sam was up and moving, following Dean. "I'm coming with you."

Stopping at the door, Dean turned to face Sam with one hand up. He closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, and opened them again. "No. You need to poke around online, and you can't do that in the car. I need to take a drive and…I just need to. I'll be fine. Just going to ask a few questions and take a look around."

"Dean, it wasn't your fault."

Hand moving to Sam's neck, Dean patted him then rubbed the hair over Sam's ear. "We'll head back to the lakefront as soon as it's light tomorrow. It'll be okay. I'll be back in a few hours. I promise. Now get busy and find some answers."

Dean was out the door before Sam had the chance to offer anymore objections.

* * *

After stopping for gas, Dean was making good time to Sherman's Campground. Something about the place still niggled in the back of his head, something other than Sam being thrown off a cliff.

The late afternoon air was clean and sweet, smelling of freshly cut grass and wildflowers. Dean cranked the radio up and leaned back, barely noticing the scenery as it flew by.

Sam had been a sweet, quiet, child and at eleven was painfully shy. The thought that he'd been hurt, and hurt because of _Dean_, turned his stomach and made him want to vomit. Dean had run into more than his fair share of abused children, alive, dead or grown-up, in his life. It was something he'd never understand, how someone could hurt a child. Sure, Dean had days when Sam annoyed him, outright frustrated him. He still did. The thought of physically harming him, on purpose no less, was disgusting and beyond Dean's comprehension. Thinking of Sam as a baby, toddler, a young boy and even a moody teen, Dean had no clue how someone could take a child's trust and destroy it in such a way.

All to simply prove they weren't afraid of Dean.

Thrown Sam off a cliff. A pack of worthless thugs had taken a shy little boy, picked him up, and thrown him over a cliff, never caring what damage might be done. The same pack of thugs died the following year, likely doing much the same thing. Dean couldn't find it in himself to feel sympathy for them. Not at all.

* * *

The card glistened and shone in the fluorescent lighting from the diner kitchen window. Ed turned it over and over between his fingers. It'd been a sign, a sure, solid sign. This was meant to be. Seren-freaking-dipity. Everything was being handed to him. He wasn't going to ignore the signs, the gifts he was afforded. That's what it was—serendipity.

Discovering the Winchesters were staying in the motel one street over from the diner he worked in was the first gift. Ed worked in the kitchen. He had a clear view of the motel from the back windows and back door.

After leaving the parts store, Ed had gone to the diner, taken up a vantage point at the back of the building and waited. He'd seen Dean's return, then saw him leave again, alone, not too long after. The gas station he'd stopped at was a few businesses from the motel.

Ed jogged over, intending to make another attempt at getting Dean to go listen to the band with him that night.

As he passed the Impala his toe bumped something on the ground. Huge smile spreading across his face, Ed scooped Dean's wallet off the ground. A quick glance at the store front and he could see Dean standing in line, he turned so his back was to the store.

"This is too good to be true." Ed extracted the motel key card from Dean's wallet and headed into the store. "Think you'll have more luck buying that stuff and your gas with this." Ed smiled and held the wallet out to Dean.

"Thanks."

"No problem. I was heading to work," he jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the diner. "Have to pick up my paycheck. I was cutting across the lot and saw it fall and figured you hadn't noticed."

"That'd be a bitch if I'd lost it." Dean smiled at him before turning away to pay for his purchases.

"Sure thing." Ed waved his farewell to Dean, hesitating at the door while Dean had a brief exchange with the cashier. He was headed to Sherman's Campground, which was at least an hour away, oblivious to the fact Ed had overheard.

Ed had no idea why Dean would want to go there, but this time things were working to his advantage. This time his plans would work, and he'd come out the victor. Settling against the back wall of the diner, motel in sight, he watched, planning out what to do next. Sam was there, alone. It was now or never.

His wait wasn't long before Sam left, heading down the street. Ed didn't know how long he'd have, so he moved quickly. Slipping inside the Winchesters' motel room, he gathered their few belongings and shoved them haphazardly into the duffels on the floor. He ran, staggering under his load, to the diner and stashed the duffels between the dumpster and the wall. He'd have liked to leave Sam's things in the room, but he didn't really know whose stuff was whose.

Dean's world back when they were kids at the campground had centered on Sam. It seemed to still be that way, Dean having to cut short their conversation at the store and rush back to Sam. Ed was going to change it for real this time. If it hadn't been for Sam all those years ago, Ed would never have lived his life mostly alone. Ed would have had a big brother, too.

Sam was going to have to learn. Dean's world didn't center on him.

* * *

Sam left the motel in search of more coffee. It was the only thing that seemed to help his throat. It was also keeping him awake long enough to track down the winding trails leading to a spirit or two killing people in this town. Every time he thought he had it worked out, something else popped up. If Dean didn't come up with something at Sherman's Campground, Sam had serious doubts they'd be solving this one anytime soon.

Staring at the sidewalk in front of him, watching where his feet went more than where he was going, he was startled by a voice near the door to their motel room.

"Guess you're on your own."

The voice sent immediate chills coursing down Sam's spine, caused his heart to skip a few beats and brought him up short.

"Why do you say that?"

Turning so his back was to the door, Sam swallowed and faced Ed, struggling to keep his voice calm and normal.

"'Cause, I just helped Dean pack his stuff up. He's been waiting with me at the diner for you to leave long enough to do that."

"Dean wouldn't just take off." Sam's hand fell to the door handle. Ed watched him keenly as he jiggled it, assuring himself it was locked.

Ed shrugged. "See for yourself. I just thought I'd warn you before you walked into a cleaned-out room."

Sam fumbled with the card key, trying to keep Ed in his line of sight at all times. No way, no freaking way Dean took off on him. Sam got the door open and took a step inside, nearly collapsing when his brain registered what his eyes were seeing.

Gone. Everything was gone.

"Dean wouldn't leave me, not willingly." He sure wouldn't take off and leave Sam with nothing. No clothes, no money. _Nothing_.

Pain blossomed over his kidneys. The room spun in sickening waves and tilted sideways. Sam's back hit the floor, hard enough to knock the breath out of him. Coughing and hacking, he fought to get up, refill his lungs. Something heavy pressed down on him and he was punched in the face. A hand pressed him to the floor.

"What are you—" More coughing broke off the words. He squinted through hazy vision at Ed.

Shifting his weight so his feet were on either side of Sam, Ed grabbed his shirt collar and hauled Sam to his feet. Half bent, still trying to bring up a lung, Sam twisted away and attempted gathering himself to fight back. His arm was yanked behind his back, he was flipped around and slammed, face first, into the wall. The move was too familiar.

"Dean." It came out more of a grunt than the question Sam intended.

"Guess you recognized that last move, huh?"

Sam's hands were bound painfully with rope, secured behind his back.

"See, your brother, Dean, he taught me that move years ago." Ed chuckled low and vicious. "Sammy."

Sam's knees felt weak. His head whirled. Ed pulled him away from the wall, turned Sam so he was facing Ed. Sam met his gaze and snarled, "It was you. I knew you at Sherman's Campground."

Ed threw his head back and laughed.


	5. Chapter 5

He hadn't been the one to shove eleven-year-old Sammy Winchester off the ravine, but he'd been responsible just the same.

The only kid in the campground that summer who didn't know about Ed's involvement was Dean Winchester. Two of the other boys who'd been there turned up a few days later with black eyes and seriously dampened attitudes. Despite the efforts of the adults around, no one solved the mystery of what happened.

Ed knew. So did Sam.

He'd turned the tables for once. None of the campground crowd messed with Dean, not from the second he stepped foot into the place with his father and brother. Their father left them for days at a stretch. Even though they'd never bothered anyone, it was general consensus at the campground the Winchesters were there because they couldn't afford a real home, nothing more than white trash.

For the first time since Ed's first summer spent at Sherman's Campground at age four or so, he wasn't the brunt of the other kids' teasing. He reveled in his ability to deflect that honor to Sammy Winchester. Sam was quiet, more interested in books than baseball or swimming, and was forever Dean's shadow. Any teasing started in Dean's presence was squashed with one glare from the older Winchester brother.

Ed learned fast, separating Sam from Dean meant a few things. Attention from the bullies was shifted to Sam and away from Ed, leaving Ed to pal around with Dean. Dean was cool. He knew everything about cars and fixed Ed's moped, could shoot a gun and _hit_ the target, was allowed to drink a beer and did so without getting drunk. Dean didn't mind sharing his mechanic skills with anyone who would listen. Dean happily showed him some self-defense moves when Ed confided how the others taunted and harassed him.

Getting Sam out of the picture was more difficult with each passing day. The younger boy, though quiet, was smart and didn't fall for Ed's ploys more than once. He'd generally show up just as Dean and Ed were starting to have fun, demanding Dean's attention. Dean always claimed responsibility for his brother, and off they'd go. From what Ed saw, Sam didn't care much for fixing cars and wasn't excited about sparring, but did so at Dean's prompting anyway. Once Sam was around, Dean forgot Ed was the better pupil, forgot Ed even existed.

It had taken Ed a few weeks, but he'd finally come up with a plan and launched it. Using Dean's reputation as his own taunt against the campground bullies Ed dared them to push Sam off a ravine, claiming none of them were brave enough, that they were all too afraid of Dean. After Sam had gone over the edge, breaking his arm, Ed reminded Sam what would happen if a call was placed to child services, how Sam would be taken away, never see his brother again.

Ed still got a thrill from the memory of Sam's eyes growing wide, brimming with tears, of how afraid Sam was of Ed after that. Too afraid to even tell Dean.

With Sam laid up, his arm in a cast, Ed was sure Dean's days would be free to spend with him. It wasn't to be, however. The first few days after Dean's frantic search to find his brother, Sam's arm was too swollen to cast. The younger boy spent several pain-filled days, much to Ed's chagrin, with Dean never leaving Sam's side. He'd nudge his younger brother against him, read to him, or they'd play cards. The day before Sam could get a cast, Dean brought Sam a new Gameboy. Ed knew they didn't have the money for it, and wondered what Dean had done to get his brother's gift.

After that the Winchester brothers had spent hours playing with the videogame, Ed forgotten and alone.

* * *

"You don't deserve a brother like that. _I_ like to work on cars, and fight and shoot guns, not _you_. You never appreciated what you had. You never let me be a part of anything. Dean's gone, sick of your books and whining and not wanting to learn important stuff."

Sam was pulled forward and slammed back again so hard his vision blurred and his head spun. "Sick of _you_!" Ed screamed at him. "I'm going to show him how much better a brother I can be. It's _my_ turn to be important!"

Shoving Sam ahead of him, Ed took him to a small car, and forced him into the passenger seat. Ed yanked Sam's arms over the back of the seat, sending spikes of pain shooting through his back and a shout out of his mouth. He felt the length of rope pull taut as Ed fastened it to some spot under the seat, effectively trapping Sam.

"I thought your car didn't run," Sam sneered as the vehicle was started.

Ed snorted a laugh. "I fixed it. One quick stop, and then we're on our way." He pulled the car around the back of the diner. Sam watched as his duffel, and Dean's were brought from between the building and the dumpster, and dropped into the car's trunk.

* * *

At least, when Dean pulled out of Sherman's Campground forty minutes after getting there he had a name: Wakeham. The man who'd been shot and put into a coma was Philip Wakeham.

Flipping out his phone for maybe the tenth time, he sighed. Still no call. He and Sam kept in pretty regular contact when working different ends of a case, and it had been nearly two hours since he'd left their motel room. Dean wanted to call, more than once, but refrained because if Sam was asleep, he didn't want to wake him. The kid needed sleep or he'd never get better.

Dean would have liked to check out the smugglers' safe rooms at the lake, but getting to them required diving underwater. They had no idea where to start searching and Sam was still too congested. There was no way he could hold his breath right now for a twenty or thirty yard underwater swim. Dean had no desire to try doing that on his own.

He'd give Sam another fifteen minutes and if he didn't check in, Dean was calling him, rest and a cold be damned.

The chiming of his phone a few minutes before his self-imposed deadline of fifteen minutes sent waves of relief through Dean's middle; it was suddenly much easier to breath.

"Sam?" he practically shouted into the phone.

"_Uh…oh…sorry…it's Ed. Is everything okay_?"

Dean swallowed, the fingers of his other hand involuntarily tightening on the steering wheel. He was trying to be nice to this kid, felt sorry for him, but in all honesty, he was about at the end of his patience rope. Ed was starting to get on his last nerve.

"Yeah, Ed, everything is great."

"_I was checking to see if you might change your mind about the band_? _Thought maybe Sammy was feeling more up to it_."

Dean ground his teeth, "I don't—" It had taken a second. _**Sammy**_.

Cold pinpricks slithered under Dean's skin, raising bumps along his arms and the back of his neck. All of a sudden he didn't want Ed knowing Sam wasn't with him, but back at the motel—alone. "We're gonna have to take a rain check. But hey, thanks."

Dean's brain clicked back over the last few days; someone had asked him.

_**Have you ever been to Sherman's Campground?**_

"_Dean, you okay_?"

_**He hated me from the get go. He hung around you, not me.**_

"Why wouldn't I be?" Dean felt sick. "Hey, Ed. You ever go to Sherman's Campground?"

Ed laughed. Dean shuddered.

"_Most_ _everyone who grew up around these parts has at one time or another._"

_**They threw me off on a dare, to prove they weren't afraid of you.**_

"Ever know a couple of kids, brothers, by the name of Geoffrey and William Sherman?"

He heard rustling, possibly Ed was shaking his head. "_No. Why_?"

_**That kid was always hanging around you, he dared them they wouldn't shove me off the cliff because they were too afraid of you.**_

"Just curious. Hey, traffic's getting dicey, gotta go." Dean snapped the phone shut and pressed his foot harder against the gas pedal.

* * *

Sam watched from the kitchen, tied to a chair, as Ed paced back and forth in the next room. He caught bits and pieces of the conversation as Ed's path took him by the doorway between the two rooms, fairly certain Ed was talking to Dean. A boomerang hanging near the door caught his attention. He squinted at it.

There was writing on the boomerang: _Geoffrey Sherman_.

_**The bodies of Geoffrey and William were cremated for shipment back to Australia for burial.**_

Moving into the kitchen, Ed stopped in front of Sam. He made a show of taking out a pistol, loading it, and pointing it at Sam's head.

Holding his breath, letting it out very slowly, Sam glared at a point over Ed's shoulder. "What do you want?"

"Here's how it going to be, _Sammy_. You're going to cut Dean loose. That's what he needs. To be free of _you_. I'm going to untie one hand, and you're going to write a note. Something short and sweet. Say good-bye. Tell him you're on your own."

"No." Sam shook his head. This guy was nuts, and Sam wasn't playing his freaking game. "I don't believe for one minute Dean would just leave. He raised me. You honestly think I'm going to believe he'd just abandon me?" It hadn't been more than a few hours, and he missed Dean so desperately it made his chest clinch tight around his lungs, preventing him from breathing right.

The barrel of the gun pressed against his temple. "Write the note."

"Dean's _my_ big brother, and _you_ can't have him." Sam spat out.

Pressing his lips into a thin line, he forced himself to look away from Ed. Had he actually just said that? Out loud?

"What's worse, having Dean find your dead body or knowing you're alive and well and just living a life without him?"

"He won't believe it," Sam insisted. Ed knew no different.

Problem was Sam wasn't sure. Maybe Dean would believe the note saying Sam had struck out on his own. His stomach churned at the thought of Dean's face, again knowing Sam had gone, had left him. A year ago, nearly two now, Sam had done that for real, taken off, left Dean in a motel in the middle of the night. A few short months after that Meg had taken him, possessed him, and again Sam disappeared. The year before that, he'd left his brother standing by their car on the roadside. Then there was Stanford. Dean would be devastated despite Sam saying so many times he'd not do that again, not ever, for any reason. Despite all the times he'd told Dean he was stuck with his little brother.

Eyes stinging with tears, Sam bit his lip, trying to keep them back. He wasn't going to show this man, Ed, he'd won, beaten Sam into doing his bidding. Worse yet, he'd made Sam an accomplice in slicing open Dean's heart, shredding it to bits.

His right arm was freed long enough for him to scrawl a note: _Need to be on my own for a bit, will call later. Love ya man. Sammy. _

His final thought before the end of the pistol slammed him unconscious was he hoped Dean would know it was a fake.

* * *

Nearly driving over the curb and through the door to their motel room, Dean slammed on the brakes at the last second. He'd tried, repeatedly, to call Sam. Each call had gone directly to voicemail.

An envelope was stuck to the door just under the peephole. Ripping it open, Dean was surprised when the key card to their room fell out. Still inside was a note. With shaking hands, Dean fumbled with the paper. He stood on the sidewalk staring at the note in his hand.

_Need to be on my own for a bit, will call later. Love ya man. Sammy._

It was Sam's handwriting…but it wasn't right. It couldn't be true. Sam wouldn't leave, not now. Other times he'd left because he'd been hurt, angry, felt betrayed. He might have been put out, and maybe a bit jealous, even if he wouldn't admit it, of the time Dean spent with Ed the last few days, mildly angry at the lack of Dean's attention…but this? Sam had said over and over how Dean was stuck with him. It wasn't Sam's way anymore.

_**Sammy…**_

Bending, he caught the key card between his fingers and managed to get the door open. Two steps in, Dean shoved his fist against his mouth, his gaze moving slowly over the room, taking in every detail, or more specifically, the lack of details. The room was cleared out, completely clean.

It didn't make sense. Why would Sam take Dean's things? How could Dean not see this coming, have some indication? Most importantly, Sam had _promised_ Dean he'd never take off as he had again. There was no good reason for it. Nothing made sense.

Dean took a final look around before stepping back outside, shoulders slumped.

Then again, when had things with Sam ever made sense?

* * *

Water hit him, hard and cold, bringing him to consciousness with an agonizing jolt. Sam sputtered and gagged, trying to catch his breath. He still couldn't breathe through his nose, he was too congested. He tried rolling from his back to his side, to breathe better, but was held down.

There was a foot on his chest.

"Time to get you tucked away." Ed bent over him, grabbed his shirt collar and hoisted Sam to his feet.

Wrists once again bound together, there was a long rope tied to his bindings, the other end held in Ed's hands. His ankles were tied more loosely. He could take short steps but not run or kick.

"C'mon." Ed turned and yanked on the rope. Sam had no choice but to follow.

"Wha' are you doing? Where're we going?" Sam panted, each breath pulling against his chest in painful waves. He couldn't see the bruising along his ribs, but he sure felt it. Ed must have kicked him a number of times while he was out. Drops of blood oozed from small cuts and scrapes covering the skin of his arms, neck and face. He'd likely been dragged from the house to outside.

"Somewhere no one—especially Dean—will find you unless I tell them."

Ed marched ahead, jerking Sam along by the rope fastened between his wrists. Barely able to keep up, Sam forced himself to look around. They were behind Ed's house, going straight to the small lagoon and boat dock.

When Ed reached the lagoon's edge he never stopped, never even slowed down. He dove right in. Sam had no choice but to follow. Hitting the water, Sam went under at once. Struggling to the surface, gasping, he spit water from his mouth and tried desperately for a good breath. His chest and ears filled with the sensation and sound of his wildly beating heart. Unable to breathe through his nose at all, Sam pulled the most air into his lungs he could just before being dragged under the water and into a tunnel.

Water moved over him, slapped his face, and stung his eyes. Fighting the rising panic, Sam could minimally kick with his legs, pushing him along behind Ed. He tried laying back, kicking and squirming to get away, but Ed jerked and yanked on the rope, tugging Sam further into the watery tunnel.

The edges of the tunnel closed in as his vision darkened around its periphery. Lungs burning to the point of misery, feeling as if his chest was going to rip apart from the inside, Sam knew he had maybe a few more seconds before he blacked out and reflex took over. He'd take a breath. Which would be damaging, if not fatal, while submerged.

Disoriented, not able to tell up from down, Sam blindly followed the rope towing him farther and farther along. Without warning, he was grabbed under the arms and thrust upwards. All at once the pressure of the water was gone. The panic subsided long enough for him to realize he was able to _breathe_. Pushed onto something hard and damp, Sam gagged and gasped, drawing huge gulps of dank, musty air into his lungs. He coughed, flopping onto his back, every heave of his chest bringing stabs of pain reverberating through to his spine.

Rolling to his side, Sam vomited water and mucus, coughing uncontrollably. White spots exploded across his vision and his throat seized, sending pain slicing along his jaw and neck. Curling his legs beneath him, he tried balancing on his knees. Bent at the middle, most of his weight on his elbows, Sam stared at the stone under him. It was damp and smelled of rotten plants and lake water. Saliva crept from the corners of his mouth and down his chin. Bracing against one arm, Sam was able to wipe the back of one hand across his face. He used the same hand to push his wet hair, plastered to his face, away from his eyes.

"Break time's over."

Ed shoved against Sam's side with one foot. He was sent tumbling back into the water. For a second time, he was barely given the chance to fill his lungs before he was hauled under the water and to another tunnel.

When they breached the water's surface the next time, not only did Sam's chest feel like it was going to explode, his head did too. His ears rang, white spots mingled with gray haze and dancing across his vision. There wasn't enough air in the area to fill his aching lungs. Everything around him smelled like wet stone. Each cough ripped out caused his throat to close around what felt like barbed spikes. Squeezing his eyes shut against the pain, he tried to brush away the tears slithering from their corners with his shoulder.

He wanted to curl into a ball and die.

Vaguely he registered being forced to his feet and moving again.

The ropes were tied to iron grating along the wall, probably used to brace the earth and keep it from caving in. Sam was bound, face against stone and grates, unable to move.

"Dean needs a decent brother. One who can share the things he likes with him." Ed pulled the ropes tighter, causing them to bite and dig into Sam's skin.

Sam grunted, then panted out, "Did you ever think he's fine with the brother he has?"

Ed laughed. "You know, if you'd let me hang around back then—and now—things might have been different. But you didn't. You wouldn't. Now you're going to pay."

"He doesn't even like you. He felt sorry for you when we were kids, that's it."

Whirling around, both hands gripped together, Ed's combined fists slammed into the side of Sam's head. "Shut up!" he screamed. "That's not true."

Swinging around, he kicked the middle of Sam's back. Despite Sam's best efforts, a scream ripped away from him.

"I only need you around for a little bit more, long enough to maybe make a call, write another note. In a few hours it won't matter either way." He kicked Sam again.

Sagging forward against the wall, panting and gagging, Sam managed to get the words out. "What happens in a few hours?"

In a mocking gesture, Ed rubbed the top of Sam's head. "High tide," he said, and was gone.

"He won't believe it! Not for a second!" Sam hollered after him. "He'll look for me." Coughs stole away the intended heat behind his words. His voice sank from a shout to a soft, wet whisper. "He'll look for me."


	6. Chapter 6

Dean backed away from the room and pulled the door shut.

Staggering back to lean against the Impala, Dean tried to collect his shattered thoughts, reign in his rampaging emotions. He stared at the closed motel room door but didn't really see it or anything else. When a hand landed lightly on his shoulder, he started, turned and spoke without really thinking. "Sam?"

Ed's face fell.

Dean thought he caught a bit of disappointment in his expression, but he didn't care right now. "What do you want, Ed?"

"You don't look so good. You okay?"

"No. Yes. Look, I'm kinda busy right now."

"Sitting on your car?"

Dean wasn't paying attention. Ed's voice sounded far away, his words meaningless. His eyes dropped to the paper held loosely in his hand. Annoyance flared when Ed tapped his bicep. "What?"

"I came to see if you were doing all right."

Eyes narrowing, Dean turned to face Ed fully. "Why would you do that?"

Scuffing his toe, not meeting Dean's eyes this time but watching his foot, Ed drew in a deep breath. "Sammy said not to tell you, but that didn't seem right. What he did, it was mean. I can't be part of that."

…_**love ya man. Sammy**_**…**

"Part of what? Exactly what is it you think Sam did?"

"I gave him a ride to the lake. He told me not to tell you where he was. Said he needed to take care of himself and things on his own. He was looking for something at the lake." Ed laid his hand on Dean's shoulder again. "Hey, how about I buy you a drink, you look like you could use it. We can hang out for a bit, take your mind off things."

"You gave Sam a ride?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry. I didn't know until we got to the lake. I wouldn't have if I'd known. Your brother really wasn't thinking of how you'd feel at all. C'mon, a beer has to sound good about now."

Dean jerked his shoulder up and moved away from Ed. "I don't want a goddamn beer. What I want is to find out what happened to my brother," he snapped out.

"Your brother took off, out on his own. What's the big deal anyway? It's not like you haven't got a friend. That band is still playing, that'll cheer you up."

"I don't want to cheer up," Dean snarled. "What I want is to get to the bottom of this bullshit." Satisfied by the surprised look on Ed's face, Dean was off the car in a flash. Grabbing Ed, Dean had him pinned to the car so fast the kid tripped over his own feet. "When the hell did you talk to Sam? He wouldn't get into a car with you. He didn't want me even talking on the phone to you."

"Guess Sammy gets to pick your friends," Ed sneered.

When had Sam ever referred to himself as _Sammy_? As far back as Dean could remember, he couldn't think of a time. He'd been the only person for years to call Sam _Sammy_. Even their father had stopped calling Sam _Sammy_ a good year before Sam had left for Stanford. Sam hadn't been _Sammy_ to the general public for a dozen or more years. In what universe would Sam, if taking off, tell Dean he loved him? Dean suspected not in this one.

"I don't really care what your opinion is. What I care about is finding my brother. Right now, he's _all_ I care about. Now are you going to tell me everything or do I beat it out of you? Either way is fine with me."

Ed wrenched himself from Dean's grasp and threw both hands in the air, letting them drop to his sides. "I'll prove it to you. But don't get mad at me when he gets pissed because you followed him." He moved around to the passenger side of the Impala. "You driving?"

Dean shoved the note into his jeans pocket and got in the car, all the while watching Ed like a hawk. The guy was off, and just plain strange, in the suddenly familiar creepy sort of way.

No way Sam took off. Everything felt so wrong. _**…love ya man. Sammy…**_

Ed's few attempts at conversation Dean completely ignored. The other man finally fell silent, giving Dean sidelong glances every minute or two. Great, Dean had traded a moody, pesky brother for a moody, irritating, _creepy_, sorry excuse for a friend. Except this guy wasn't Dean's idea of friend. He had a friend. He had Sam. He didn't need a pack of friends, one was enough work, thank you very much.

Pulling down Ed's driveway, Dean parked the car between the house and the lake. Out of the car, scanning the area, he turned to Ed. "Where is he?"

"I don't get it. Why not just let him have his way? Let him go do what he wants? We can—"

Resisting the urge to beat the crap out of the guy, Dean shouted at him. "Because Sam's my _brother_! Because if it were true I'd know about it! Because I won't believe it until I hear it from his mouth! Now show me where he went."

Dean followed Ed to the artificial lagoon to one side of the house.

"Through there." Ed pointed to the just visible darker outline of a tunnel.

No way Sam would go, willingly, into a tunnel filled with water, not today at any rate. He'd been too congested and run down. He'd know better than to try swimming the tunnel. Dean remembered reading about the length of the tunnels, getting through either required scuba gear or the ability to hold your breath for nearly two minutes.

Sam was probably capable of that when he was healthy, but Sam wasn't healthy right now. Trying a swim like that would be foolhardy and dangerous, too risky. Sam was far too practical. Unless he was coerced.

Or forced.

Stripping off his jacket, Dean turned to Ed. "After you."

Shrugging, Ed rolled his eyes and sighed. He took two steps back, and dropped off the lagoon's edge. It was then Dean noticed he wore Aqua Socks, not regular shoes. Squelching a comment about just how gay that was, it struck him—Ed had been in the water already. True, the guy lived on a lakefront; maybe he swam a lot. But walking around with swimming shoes on? Within hours of claiming Sam had come here and went into an underwater tunnel? When Ed reached up and grabbed a flashlight from the lagoon's edge, Dean saw the pistol tucked into his waistband.

What was the guy expecting to run into, _Jaws_? Unfortunately, Dean had no weapon, though he wished for one. Getting to his own weapons had been impossible with Ed hanging over his shoulder. He mentally kicked himself for not preparing better, for letting the note rattle him so much.

Dean dove in the water, following Ed to the tunnel. Propelling forward with long, sure strokes, Dean knifed through the water, glad it was late enough in the year the chill from winter was gone. Following close, he kept a keen eye on the light shining along the tunnel walls. The first room they'd come to would be the decoy or storage room. A second tunnel would lead from that room to where the rumrunners' real stash would be kept. The second room often was completely submerged except during low tide. High tide had peaked, though how long ago, Dean didn't know. Swimming the tunnel would have been more difficult during high tide he was sure.

Breathing hard, Dean hauled himself onto the stone and dirt floor of the first room, shuddering when he remembered the story of Abby Sherman, trapped in a cache room, left to drown.

He looked around. The room, lit by overhead lighting, was three sided, the fourth opening to the water. Dean wondered what sort of pain in the ass it'd been to get electricity down here, or if the lights ran on some sort of batteries.

There were some tools—a few shovels against one corner and sitting on top a coil of chain. The walls were earthen, shored up with iron grating and some wooden planks. Dean took a few steps away from the water's edge, stopping when something familiar caught his eye. Cocking his head to one side, Dean moved farther from Ed, farther into the room. He bent and picked an item off the pile of tools, turning it over in his hands a few times.

A hunting knife he'd thought he'd lost years ago, with his name carved in it, sat in his grasp. A knife he'd lost at Sherman's Campground the same summer Sam had broken his arm.

Looking up, staring hard at Ed, Dean drew in a slow breath. "Where's Sam?"

* * *

The water lapping at Sam's feet rose. He'd never paid much attention to tides, though Dean occasionally filled him in on some of the finer details. Why Dean knew about tides was beyond Sam. Now, however, he wished he'd paid more attention. He had no idea how much time had gone by since he'd been left here. The water was rising fast. It wasn't cold enough to cause hypothermia; he'd drown completely conscious, not pass out from cold first.

Even if Dean hadn't believed the note and was looking for him, how the hell was he to find Sam?

Water crept higher, reaching his waist. The dark surrounding him was just as oppressive, and possibly more frightening. Far too quickly, water he could only track by sound and feel was closing in on his shoulders. Sam fought his panic, rising up from his chest in waves larger than those rising up his body. Channeled through the tunnel, the water was rising faster than Sam thought it would.

Pushing his weight back, using the water to help buoy him, Sam desperately fought against his restraints. The iron grating scraped against his cheeks as he turned his head to the side.

Water sloshed back and forth over the nape of his neck. His entire body trembled, and not from cold. He strained against the ropes holding him to the wall. The ropes around his ankles were water-logged; they stretched enough he was able to rock up onto his toes. Craning his neck so his mouth aimed upwards, Sam spit the water slapping into his mouth out again.

Inhaling foul-smelling lake water, Sam coughed and sputtered, every breath wet and agonizing. His hair floated, fanning out from his head and his tongue tasted like old weeds and dead fish.

Panic won out, took hold and set in. Kicking and yanking his arms, spitting water from his mouth and gasping for air, Sam pushed himself as far up on his toes as possible. The ropes cut and rubbed against the bare skin of his wrists, causing small strings of blood to rise and float near Sam's eyes. He'd have laughed hysterically at the thought he hoped Dean's lake monster wasn't a carnivore and attracted to blood, but he was too busy trying to keep his face above the rising water.

Jerking frantically against his bindings, Sam felt the ropes stretch a fraction. Another hard, desperate pull against the bindings. Maybe, just maybe…

His right hand slipped free.

Lips pressed against the room's ceiling, struggling for every breath and taking in more water than air, Sam dug in his pocket for the small pocketknife he carried. The sound of the water battering the walls, and his face, filled his ears. He sawed at the rope tying him to the wall, pulling back at the same time. It let loose and Sam's own weight and momentum carried him back, jarring his ankles. A gulp of air and he scrunched down, repeatedly cutting away the rope knotted at his feet. His ankles were still bound, but he didn't take the time to cut away that rope.

Another breath, as much air as he could manage, and Sam went under the water, flipped around and used his arms to push himself through the pitch black tunnel. There was no light and he hit the rough tunnel walls repeatedly, that being his only guide to freedom.


	7. Chapter 7

Ed shrugged. "Guess he's not here anymore."

Dean held the knife out. "I'd wondered where this had gotten to." He met Ed's gaze unwaveringly. "It was you, that summer, wasn't it? You dared those boys to throw Sam off the cliff."

"They were all so afraid of you. They didn't bother me when you were around. You promised me they wouldn't do anything."

Swallowing hard, Dean felt shaky as cold sweat dripped down his spine. He'd told this guy, a child at the time, a pack of bullies wouldn't hurt him, and then they had? He'd promised to protect a little boy and failed? "Ed…I—"

"You didn't even know I was alive after stupid Sammy wanted attention, always whining and crying."

"He broke his arm!"

"It wasn't fair," Ed screamed. Pointing at the water, "He had a big brother; I never had one. All I wanted was a brother! A _friend_!"

Dean's eyes flicked to the water. His stomach turned to a cold ball of acid. "And you thought hurting _my_ brother was a way to win my friendship?"

Ed laughed. The sound turned to a half a sob. "Geoffrey Sherman said the same thing." He giggled. "Guess I still win."

Mouth drying, Dean tried to swallow, but it was impossible; his throat was closed up. Sidestepping around Ed toward the water, Dean kept his voice low. "Tell me where Sam is. We can both be your brothers. It'll be the three of us."

"Geoffrey shot my father. Everything we had was taken away. My mother killed herself. All because Sam, then William, were nothing but sniveling brats. You could never see beyond them, either of you," Ed babbled. "I just wanted to have something of my own too. Someone to depend on, who cared about _me_."

"You can. I'm here. We'll both be here. We'll be like the Three Musketeers. Just tell me where Sam is."

Ed's eyes sharpened, his face hardened. "But you wouldn't let me in. Sam wouldn't. All Sam's fault. Now it's just you and me. Water's not cold enough to cause hypothermia." Shaking his head once, he grinned, sending shivers through Dean. "Pity really. Gonna be wiiiide awake."

Dean's knees felt weak. Locking them was the only way he remained upright.

Ed took out his gun, pointing it at Dean. Chin jerking toward the knife in Dean's hand, he watched closely as Dean set the knife down and raised both hands.

"Wonder how it feels? Nothing but water all around you, in your nose and mouth, your ears. Filling you up inside. Rooms are about seven feet high. Sam's not that tall. Nothing to breathe but water."

Ed had a gun pointed at him. Ed was staring at him, but Ed wasn't really _watching_ him.

Dean charged.

Head down at the last second, he hit Ed square in the chest. They crashed to the ground, sliding a few feet on the wet floor. Ed's gun spun away across the stone. Straddling Ed, he landed a solid punch to the guy's face, shouting, "Where the hell is Sam?"

"You'll never find him." Ed cackled and spit at Dean. "There's too many tunnels. Even if he did manage to survive high tide, which has come and gone, you'll never find him. Hell, I nearly drowned him just getting him here." Ed threw one arm out to the side then lashed it through the air, "I can be a much better brother."

Hearing the metal clang, feeling the pain on the side of his head and seeing the shovel come at him happened all at once. The room slithered in and out of focus and his ears rang. Light dimmed along the edges of his vision. Dean tumbled sideways, choking in ragged breaths. Ed flipped him over and away. Feet hitting the wet ground, first retreating, then coming closer registered somewhere in the back of Dean's mind along with the thought to _move_!

Something clammy, cold, and hard was wound around his wrists. Another gulp of air and Dean rolled to one side, using the tension from whatever was around his arms as a brace. The tension jerked.

"Get up." Ed shouted.

Rolling farther until his knees were under him, Dean was barely on his feet before he was yanked forward. Half running, half crawling, Dean fell forward more than anything. Clanking and rattling of chain…_**gee ghosts, cliché much?**_...a frustrated growl from Ed and another yank on his wrists brought Dean up hard against the wooden planking.

The fuzz that was his head cleared enough for him to blink his eyesight into focus. Backpedaling, Dean shouted through clenched teeth, then swore and kicked at the wall when his arms and shoulders hit resistance and pulled painfully forward.

"What the—" Dean straightened, then twisted his upper half around far enough to see Ed. A length of chain encircled his wrists before leading to a large hook screwed into the wooden planking of the wall. Ed had secured the chain to the hook. He was chained to a wall.

Ed stood, panting, a few feet away. Out of reach.

"This isn't impressing me," Dean snapped out.

"When Sam's gone you'll feel differently. We'll just sit here until you feel differently."

Ed, Dean decided, was completely and totally crazy insane. Not to mention dangerous. Jerking back again, he got as much room between himself and the wall and kicked at the wood. It bent and cracked but did not give.

"Stop that. You're not leaving!" Ed swung the shovel.

This time Dean saw it coming and turned so his shoulders took the majority of the hit, not his head. Vicious spikes of agony throbbed across his shoulders and down his back.

Water splashed. Near the edge of the room there was coughing.

"_No_!" Ed shouted. Leaving Dean, he charged across the small space, shovel up.

Dean watched, horrified, as the shovel sliced through the air at Sam's head. "_Sam_!"

Half in the water and half out, coughing and gagging more than breathing, Sam looked up just in time to see the shovel coming at him. Shoving away from the edge, he ducked back under the water seconds before the shovel slapped the surface.

Dean pulled back again, kicking over and over at the planking. The hook was too high. He didn't have enough room to get his foot up that far, so he pounded at the wood below it.

Sam popped up from the water, clambering over the edge and into the room. His face looked like he'd gone a few rounds with a cheese grater, and lost. Every breath looked like it was a struggle, but he was alive. Again the shovel came down at him. Dean didn't have time to shout a warning, but this time Sam was ready and saw the weapon aimed at him. He rolled to the side, clear of Ed and the advancing shovel. "Dean!"

His name was more of a wet plea than anything else, but to Dean's ears it was the best sound ever.

Again, Ed drove at Sam with the shovel, screaming, "It's my turn!"

Arms splayed out to each side, Sam's hand landed on the gun. The second his fingers wound around the weapon, he was on his feet, gun aimed at Ed. "You had them throw me off a cliff!" He was hobbled, staggering, shouting words between retching noises and trying to get between Ed and Dean.

Ed ran at Dean, shovel up and swinging. His voice was pitched high and shrieking, "I get to be the one this time!"

He'd never get out of the way at this angle. "Sam. Shoot the chains." Dean kicked at the wall, then tugged against the chains.

"Get away from him!" Sam was shouting, repeating it over and over, shuffling sideways in an attempt to keep up with Ed.

Dean's breath caught and held in his throat; his heart leapt and stuttered when the gunshot reverberated through the room, echoing off the walls.

Ed's eyes widened. He took two more steps, stopped and dropped the shovel. A second gunshot ricocheted with the sound of the metal shovel hitting stone floor. Ed looked down at his chest, swiping one hand in an almost absent-minded movement across his bloodied shirt. Staggering backwards, he looked around helplessly before he sagged. Starting at his shoulders his body crumpled; it seemed to fold in on itself and he dropped to the floor, hit the edge and rolled into the watery tunnel.

Sam stared, wolfing huge breaths through his mouth. His hands dropped to his sides.

"Sam, get me outa here."

Sam's eyes fixed on the spot Ed's body had fallen.

"_Sam_!"

Starting, Sam jerked his head around. He looked at Dean, eyes wide, face pale, shaking and sounding like he'd run a marathon underwater. "I shot him. I killed him." The soft whisper burbled out of Sam's mouth, ending in a coughing jag. He drooped down, balancing on his heels, leaning his hands against his knees.

"Sammy." Dean had to concentrate to keep his voice calm, using a soft, firm tone. "Focus on me. Sam. C'mon, I need help here."

Nodding, Sam got slowly to his feet. Dean hurt watching him. His movements were stiff, uncoordinated. Using the same shovel Ed tried to kill them both with, Sam hit the hook until it gave way and the chain came loose. Dean unwound the chain, kicking away from it and the wall. Sam hit his knees hard, swaying. Scooting closer to his brother, Dean gently took the gun and put it on the floor behind him.

"I didn't mean to. He was a p-person, n-not demon or g-ghost, e-evi-l." Sam's words slurred.

"Hey, Sam." Dean gripped Sam's shoulders, jostling him until Sam's eyes met his. "He tried to kill you, twice. He would have killed me. He got another little boy, whose only crime was having a big brother, killed. If that's not evil, man, I don't know what is." He pushed against Sam's shoulders until he was leaning against the wall. "Listen to me. Stay put, right here until I come back." Another shake to Sam's shoulders. "Sam. Are you listening to me?"

Puffy, unfocused eyes lifted to meet Dean's. Sam nodded. "Where are you going? Why are you leaving? I didn't leave. He left me in another room; the water was coming up."

Dean eased the ropes from around Sam's wrists and ankles, "I know, Sammy."

"I told him you were my big brother, and he didn't get to have you."

Dean couldn't help the short laugh. "You said that?"

"Yeah."

"Out loud?"

Sam nodded.

"Embarrassing."

"Yeah."

"Thanks." Dean pushed soggy bangs off Sam's forehead. "You sit tight. I'm going to go back and get some rope you can use as a tow line. I'll see if I can find a life-jacket too."

Sam's hands gripped his forearms with surprising strength considering he looked beat nearly into unconsciousness. "We have to go back through the tunnels?"

Dean nodded, swallowing roughly.

Eyes flitting between Dean and the water, Sam rasped out. "I can't hold my breath." Every word was punctuated with a cough.

"The tide is going out, the water isn't as deep. I think there might be enough room, we won't be completely under."

"I'm coming with you…not waiting. We're going together."

"Sam—"

"No. Please."

Dean sighed, "Okay."

He glanced around, seeing the ropes Sam had been tied with. Grabbing the longest chunk, he wound one end around Sam's waist, knotting it securely. It wasn't long enough to tie the other end around himself, so he threaded it through his belt loop and tied it off. Sliding one arm across Sam's back and under his arms, Dean hoisted the two of them to their feet.

Patting Sam's chest a few times, Dean smiled at him. "We can do this."

"Yeah. We can."

Grabbing Ed's flashlight, Dean thrust it into Sam's hands. "You're in charge of the light. I'm in charge of the steering." He waited until Sam nodded. "Let me do the work, okay?"

"I don't think I have much choice."

Dean rubbed Sam's back a few times and drew in a few deep breaths; he hated the thought of going back through the tunnels. "Let's get it done."

Sitting on the edge, Dean slid into the water first, turned and treaded in place. He held Sam's arm and helped guide him, while Sam eased, wincing and gritting his teeth, into the water. The two of them bobbed there for a minute, getting their bearings. Pointing in the direction of the tunnel entrance, Dean wrapped one arm around his brother's chest, keeping Sam in front of him.

They drifted toward the tunnel opening. Dean kicked his feet, guiding them with his free hand. Sam clutched the flashlight in trembling hands, aiming under the water at their target. Once they reached the narrow entrance, they stopped.

"Ready?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded tightly.

Hand moving to the top of Sam's head, Dean whispered, "Big breath."

Simultaneously, they inhaled deeply as Dean dunked them under the water and propelled them forward. Sam's free arm waved through the water, as did Dean's in time with the kicking of his legs. Eyesight adjusting to the murky water and dim light after a few seconds, Dean saw at the same time Sam pointed up the way the water splattered the sides of the tunnel and the narrow space between the surface and tunnel ceiling.

They kicked forward and up, breaking through to the small pocket of air. Sam coughed uncontrollably, each rattle of his chest vibrating through Dean. Faces tilted up, they gasped for air. Unable to touch the bottom with his feet, Dean kept them moving forward with a pedaling motion. "Take it slow," he coached.

Sam didn't talk, but his chin jerked up and down; his arm kept going through the water. Without traveling under the water, they were only able to inch along but at least they could breathe. Sam tucked his other arm in and pressed his elbow against Dean's arm around his middle, steadying the light. The outgoing tide splashed the water against their backs, and the sides of the tunnel, but helped move them toward the lagoon.

"Shit. Dean! Shit, something grabbed me." A startled cry, then the words garbled from Sam's mouth.

Spinning as fast as possible in the small water-filled space, Dean took the light from Sam and scanned the area. His leg caught on what felt like fingers. Jerking away out of reflex, he pushed Sam behind him and farther along the tunnel.

Ed's body hung, bent at the hips and arms outstretched in the water. The body bobbed closer as the current rolled it face up and pushed it to the surface practically under Dean's nose. Sucking in fast more than inhaling, Sam's harsh breathing in his ear, Dean shoved off the body with his feet. Sam's arm wound around him and scrambling backwards in the water, he pulled Dean with him. The body sank, disappearing in the dark water. Dean stared after it.

"Dean. C'mon." Sam's fingers gripped the shirt over his shoulder and tugged.

"That was just friggin' creepy." Turning Sam forward once more, Dean gave him back the flashlight and threaded his arm under Sam's, helping to keep him afloat.

Foot by painstaking foot, they made their way to where the tunnel opened out into the lagoon.


	8. Chapter 8

_Thank you everyone who has been reading and thank you for all the great comments, you've made my day!_

_Laura_

* * *

Sam had never been so happy to see the night sky in his life. Finally clear of the tunnel, he and Dean crossed the small lagoon under a dark sky littered with stars. He had no idea how long it'd taken them to traverse the underwater tunnel. It seemed as if he'd spent hours trying for freedom. The entire time he was tucked safely against Dean's chest, his head against the beefy part of Dean's shoulder, making breathing tolerable. His brother was the only thing keeping Sam afloat. He'd never have been able to get back through the tunnel without Dean's help.

Hooking his arms over the side of the lagoon wall, Sam let Dean brace him there for a few seconds before giving him a boost to dry land. Turning at once, he grasped Dean's hand, leaning his weight back so Dean had an easier time scrambling out.

They both flopped down on the ground, staring up at the sky.

"I hate swimming." Sam coughed out the last word. He fumbled with the rope around his waist, getting it off and letting it lay where it fell to the ground.

"Me too."

They made a good team. Just the two of them. He and Dean.

Dean's hand dropped onto his chest. It felt good. "We still gotta ghost to waste."

Sam rolled his head to the side, facing his brother. "We still hafta find it." Without dislodging Dean's hand he propped onto his elbows, coughing and sneezing.

Hand moving to Sam's back, Dean patted a few times then climbed to his feet, holding the same hand out for Sam to pull himself upright. Sam pointed to the small car Ed had driven him in.

"Our stuff is in his trunk."

"Creepy-ass little bastard." Dean moved ahead then stopped without warning. "Oh shit." His exhale was the only warning Sam had.

Jerked from his feet, Dean was flung back into the lagoon and shoved under the water. Arms flailing, Dean managed to get his head up, coughing and sputtering, apparently trying to fight the spirit off with clever use of harsh language.

Sam darted after him, tripping and falling over his uncooperative feet. How many laws had Dean broken in his life? Sam lost count years ago. Flattening on the ground, he reached into the water, grabbed Dean's arms and hauled him up.

Something hit him between the shoulder blades, sending him tumbling into the water beside his brother. Sam had broken a few laws too. He'd just killed a man. His entire body shook as he was shoved beneath the water's surface. Strong fingers wrapping around his forearms stopped his descent into the dark, unforgiving water. Sam kicked his feet while Dean pulled him up.

The spirit couldn't go after them both at once.

Sam was shoved against the lagoon wall again. Hooking one arm under Dean's shoulder, Sam scrambled over the edge, Dean landing nearly on top of him. Up and moving with lightning speed, Dean reversed their holds, grabbing Sam under the arms, pulling up and backpedaling at once. "We gotta get away from the water." Dean was shouting even though Sam wasn't more than six inches from him.

"The house—in the house—" Sam got the words out as he and Dean were flung apart.

Dean had been thrown farther from the water. He hit the ground with a harsh grunt, then dodged to one side immediately, arm thrown over his face. Sam didn't stop to wonder what Dean was protecting himself from; he had a good idea anyway. Getting his shaky legs under the rest of him, Sam ran, staggering sideways as much as forward at the house.

Again he was hit on his back; this time the blow sent him sprawling face down in the dirt then he was being yanked backwards. As ground flew by, he caught sight of Dean beside the Impala. Spinning toward Sam, Dean brought a shotgun up. Sam ducked his face away as Dean fired at a point just over his head. The spray of rock salt gave him freedom, for the moment.

"In the house!" Sam struggled to his feet, tripping and stumbling toward the house, hoping Dean would follow him without asking a lot of questions.

The back door, when Sam finally got there, was locked. He gripped the doorknob in both hands, hanging on and leaning in.

"Move!" Dean barked.

Sam rolled to one side just as Dean's foot slammed against the wood. The door bounced open. They fell through and into the kitchen. The door slamming shut behind them made Sam shudder. Dean often kicked doors open. He rarely bothered to shut them in the same manner.

Water erupted from the sink. They heard toilets in the house flush over and over. Somewhere farther into the house was the distinctive sound of water rushing from faucets. Pipes rattled in the walls, the noise escalated to near painful levels.

Hitting the wall face first—this was getting old—Sam inched sideways, fingers scrabbling along the worn wallpaper. A second blast from Dean's shotgun and he was once again moving more freely. Finally he clutched the boomerang. Yanking it from the wall at the same time his body was pitched away, Sam threw the boomerang at Dean, not seeing if Dean caught it or not.

Water was swirling around their feet, getting deeper. It blew from pipes in the walls and under the floor. Bits of plaster and wood fountained into the air, mixing with the water, and rained back down. He heard Dean's body impact with the table, pushing it against the far wall. The shotgun hit the rising water with a _ker-splash_. Sam was free again, the spirit now attacking Dean. The boomerang gripped in Dean's hand, he flipped over, his other hand connecting with a salt shaker rolling around the table.

"Sam!" Dean shouted over the rushing water and the pops and bangs of breaking pipes.

Darting forward, Sam had Dean's arms again, pulling against unseen hands, trying to get Dean on his feet. Dean had the boomerang and some salt. Sam had Dean. Eyes flitting around the kitchen, he finally let his gaze rest on the stove. Throwing them both at it, Sam got the burner turned on. Dean tossed the boomerang onto the flame, then the salt.

It wasn't the ideal way to go about this sort of thing, but it worked.

The small cooking flame flared when the dry wood of the boomerang hit it. There wasn't enough salt to quench the flame, but there was enough to quench an angry spirit.

Water spiraled up from the floor, spouting toward the ceiling and moving at them with alarmingly fast accuracy. Dean's hand on his shoulders, pushing and turning at the same time forced Sam away from the stove and toward a wall.

The boomerang cracked and popped, completely engulfed in flames.

The water spout exploded outwards.

Everything went still and quiet.

Sam sagged against the wall for a few seconds. He wasn't hanging around long; he wanted out of this place.

"C'mon." Dean's hand on his arm told him Dean had the same thought.

They made their way from the house to the Impala. Sam leaned his side against the car, bracing his hands on his knees, coughing and sneezing while Dean unlocked the door. Offering no resistance when his brother stuffed him into the car, Sam watched through watery eyes as Dean took a crowbar to the trunk of Ed's car. After their duffels were extracted and thrown into the Impala's backseat, Dean slid into the driver's seat.

Sam inched down until his head rested against the seat back; letting it loll to one side he watched Dean. His brother was gripping the steering wheel, panting and shivering.

"Hey." Sam let the back of one hand rest against Dean's shoulder.

Dean turned and looked at him, nodding.

"When's Champ Day?"

Shrugging, Dean squinted at him. "About two weeks."

"Let's go see."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Champ Day with _my_ big brother sounds awesome."

"No swimming."

"Oh, hell no." Sam's attempt at a laugh simply came out as congested hacking.

Dean's hand moved from the wheel to bounce heavily a few times off Sam's bicep. "We're outa here."

When they reached the road, Sam let his eyes drift shut, comforted by the sound of the Impala's engine and the fact his brother was safely beside him.

* * *

When they reached the motel, Dean got Sam awake enough to stand him up and hang a duffel off his shoulder, then guided him through the motel room door. Sam's butt hit the bed, but Dean figured he was out cold before the rest of him hit. Disentangling the duffel from Sam, and throwing a blanket over him, Dean found clean clothes.

As much as he'd been wet tonight, he was filthy and wanted a shower. "You wanna shower first?" he asked Sam's sleeping form. "No? Okay." Snickering at his own joke, Dean headed to the bathroom.

Sam didn't look as if he'd so much as twitched when Dean emerged, cleaner. He stood there, in the middle of the room, watching his brother sleep. It'd been a long day.

Tired as he was, he couldn't sleep so he spent time reorganizing the shitty packing job Ed had done with their belongings, sorting his and Sam's things into the appropriate duffels.

He couldn't move his mind beyond the fact Sam had been hurt because of _him_. It wasn't his fault, he knew that, but still…Then poor Sam, having to shoot the same person, killing him. They'd get by, they always did. Knowing that didn't make it hurt less. If only he'd paid more attention, been more diligent.

Trudging outside and loading the Impala, Dean turned, watching Sam through the open doorway. All because of him, this whole mess, because of _Dean_. How many other times, Dean wondered had Sam been hurt because of him somehow? He didn't want people, particularly Sam, hurt because of him.

It'd be so easy, closing the door, getting in his car, driving away. Sam would have his life back. He'd go to school; maybe get married. Be safe.

It'd be so simple, so easy to go away, vanish forever.

Except for one fact.

It was impossible.

Dean couldn't leave his brother. They needed one another. Apart, separated, wasn't an option. They were a team. A family.

He couldn't condone what Geoffrey Sherman did or became. He couldn't condemn him either. Dean had to be honest, he'd be no different if it had been Sam to die, not William Sherman.

As for Abby Sherman, they'd have to wait and see. Finding her remains in the maze of tunnels and underwater rooms in the area might be impossible, but everything had ceased with the burning of Geoffrey's boomerang. It was the one thing of Geoffrey's that tied him to Ed. The boomerang had become Geoffrey's route to revenge. Dean felt confident that was the only spirit they were dealing with, though he was unsure why Ed himself had never been a target.

Wandering to the nearby gas station, Dean made a few purchases and tossed them into the backseat of the car.

Dawn was just lightening the sky when Dean made his way to the motel office, checking them out. He returned to their room to find Sam sitting up, gaze moving slowly from one point in the room to the next.

Sam looked up at him silently. Dean stopped just inside the doorway, tossing his keys to the table. "I got us checked out. Don't know about you, but I'm ready to blow this town."

Nodding hesitantly, Sam moved stiffly off the bed. "Can I get a shower first?"

Dean's lips curled to a slow smile. "_Now_ he wants a shower." Waving at the bathroom, "Go ahead."

Sam watched him intently. Damn, the kid knew how Dean had thought, for a minute, of driving away. Alone.

Settling at the table, Dean pulled the book he'd bought at the diner their first night there closer. He'd left it on the table, intending to leave it for the next person, since he knew for a fact most of it was probably bull anyway.

"I'll just sit here and read." Dean leaned back in the chair and opened the book.

Nodding curtly, Sam made his way stiffly to the bathroom, waving off Dean's mock threat of, "Don't take too long."

Sam broke even Dean's record for longest shower in the history of shower taking. Dean would have thought he'd spent enough time in water the past day, but apparently not so.

At long last, they settled themselves in the car, and Dean pulled away from the motel.

"Where are we going?" Sam asked after a few minutes. "The highway is the other way."

"I know. Something else I want to do first."

When Dean pulled into the parking spot near the old lookout Sam split the quiet inside of the car with a loud sigh.

"What are we doing here?"

Dean grabbed the bag containing his purchases out of the back, then shoved out of the car. "You'll see, I hope. Come on Sammy."

"I'm _not_ getting into a dinghy." Sam grumbled, but trailed along behind him. He grumped and groaned and complained the entire way down the steps.

Dean sat down, getting comfortable. Twisting to look back at Sam, he patted the ground next to him. He hung his legs over the break wall edge and tuned out Sam's huffing and grouching. Pulling two bags of bread from the store bag, he shoved one against Sam's chest. The other he opened, and threw a slice onto the water.

Sam shook his head, opened his bag and extracted a piece of bread, tearing it into bits. "You want to sit here and feed fish or ducks or whatever." Small chunks of bread floated on the water. "And you call me a girl." Sam leaned to the side so his shoulder rested against Dean's.

The water sloshed and churned.

"Why can't we just get—Holy freaking _CRAP_!" Sam's voice shot up to what had to be an embarrassing screech.

Dean's eyes slid to the side, watching Sam.

In a flurry of unorganized movement, Sam's legs were pushing him back. Arms, legs, and hair were going in too many directions at once. Hand shooting out with practiced accuracy, Dean's fingers closed around Sam's wrist, preventing him from going anywhere. Sam jumped to the side, nearly losing his balance. If Dean hadn't caught his arm quick, and pushed him back to the ground, he was sure Sam would have jumped into his lap.

"That's! There's a—" Sam's fingers fisted in Dean's shirt.

Dean ignored him and focused on the mottled head bobbing up from the water. "It's okay little guy, he's noisy, but he won't hurt you. Don't be scared." He tossed another slice of bread out. It was scooped up and sucked into the creature's mouth in seconds.

"Me!? Scared?...Hurt!…_Little_?!"

Dean winced, the way Sam's voice cracked it had to be uncomfortable.

The creature turned its head to the side, body coming out of the water more and rolling far enough a long, flat flipper breached the surface. It reached out, tapping against Sam's foot. Hastily curling his legs back, Sam sat, staring wide-eyed, mouth gaping open. He gulped a swallow once, twice, "Dean. That's a—"

Dean laughed. "And we didn't even need the dinghy." He let go of Sam's wrist and wrapped one arm around his shoulders, squeezing Sam's neck with his fingers for a minute. "Told ya." His other hand gently pushed Sam's lower jaw up, closing his mouth.

Without losing Dean's body contact, Sam leaned forward, stretching his arm out until his fingertips brushed the creature's nose. "Wow." He exhaled, turning his head only far enough to look at Dean. Sam's face was filled with wonder, outright awe. It was something Dean hadn't seen or felt in too long. Neither of them had.

This felt good.

Waves slapped the break wall. Sam sucked in his breath and made some astounded noise at the back of his throat when the larger of the two creatures popped up, sliding between Sam and its companion. His own bag of bread apparently forgotten, Sam grabbed Dean's, digging in and pulling out more slices. He held them out to the creatures. "There's _two_!"

Dean jerked his bag of bread out of Sam's hand. "I distinctly remember mentioning that."

"Dean, they're really real."

"Pretty cool, huh?"

"This is amazing." Sam emptied his bag of bread into the water, laughing as the two creatures jockeyed for the bigger share of the treats.

Then, just like before, they were gone, gliding just beneath the water's surface, heading back to the open lake.

"We gotta go to Champ Day now."

"Heck yes!" Sam stood up, brushed off his jeans. "We can make fun of how they probably got it all _wrong_."

Dean gave one last look over his shoulder at the lake and retreating forms of the creatures before following Sam up the steep steps and to their car.

A team. A family. Together. There wasn't any other choice really.

He slid into the warm familiarity of the Impala, of home. Starting the engine, Dean turned the car around, heading for the highway.

"That was the best, ever." Sam literally beamed at him.

Dean pressed his lips together, swallowed and grunted, nodding.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," he squeaked out, closing his eyes tightly against the pressure for a few beats. He ventured a look at Sam, who was busy rifling around for something under the seat.

Dean sneezed.

A box of tissue dropped onto his lap. "Bless you."

"Thank you, Sam."

He was so screwed.

**The End**


End file.
